


Between the Sinners and the Saints

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (I guess it's Purgatory. I'm not going to get really technical here.), Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Purgatory, partially inspired by Everlost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: Karkat Vantas is dead, which means he won't be graduating college. He's dead, he's pissed, and he's being followed by some tries-too-hard-to-be-helpful jackass with blond hair and a shitty attitude.Dave Strider hasbeendead for quite some time. He's resigned himself to a liminal existence, and takes it upon himself to guide any lost spirits he happens across.Rose Lalonde is a ghost-spotting paranormal enthusiast. Along with her girlfriend, she plans on documenting the happenings of the Space Between, a realm where unsettled spirits go to ponder what binds them to this world.Kanaya Maryam, girlfriend of Rose Lalonde, just wants to help guide her childhood friend to the afterlife. Of course, the presence of soul-devouring demons might complicate this a little...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Yes! This is another attempt to make an afterlife fic, but I'm actually planning this one so I hope it goes well!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little preview of what's coming. The first real chapter will be posted soon! Stay tuned!

**From the SkaiaNet News website, dated 11 May 2015...**

More details have been released regarding an early morning accident, which caused massive delays on Route 1 through the early hours of many peoples' morning commute. The incident occurred at roughly 3:00 AM, when a wrong-way tractor-trailer collided with a 1996 Buick Roadmaster. The driver of the tractor-trailer was not injured, but is being held on charges of drunk driving.

The other driver, who was reportedly going below the speed limit, is in critical condition. The family has released the name of the young man and is now raising funds to cover what is shaping up to be a long future of hefty medical bills. Karkat Vantas, 20, was slotted to graduate amongst Skaia University's top ten students. He was majoring in political science, and planned on becoming a politician. Friends and family say that he was an outspoken advocate of equality. He was returning to campus after spending a weekend at home.

A statement from the family said that the young man is in the ICU, and has sustained multiple life-threatening injuries. The most worrisome of these is a traumatic brain injury. At this time, the family, which owns and operates the locally beloved Indian restaurant, Crimson Creations, has closed their business. The patriarch of the family thanks restaurant regulars for their support and prayers.

* * *

**From the SkaiaNet News Website, dated 12 May 2015...**

Local college student, Karkat Vantas, a victim of a devastating car crash, is reportedly recovering. His family has tentatively reopened their restaurant, Crimson Creations, though the young man's parents remain absent from its daily operations.

A statement, released at 10:00 this morning, says that the Skaia University student has undergone an operation to relieve pressure on his brain, and is now recuperating. The family notes that further operations are needed, but remains optimistic. Further updates will be posted on the Crimson Creations website and blog, and the family promises continue to keep local news stations updated.

* * *

**From the SkaiaNet News Website, dated 14 May 2015...**

Despite the best efforts of Becquerel Hospital, the victim of a recent drunk driving accident has died. The devastated family posted the update on Crimson Creations' website at 9:30 AM.

"We thank you for your thoughts and warm wishes during this trying time, and regret to inform that Karkat has passed away. Earlier this morning, medical staff reported that he had taken a turn for the worst. He left us at 5:00 PM, in the presence of friends and family," read the statement.

The post goes on to detail fonder memories of the prolific student, and speaks fondly of his passionate personality. "Many Crimson Creations customers might remember Karkat as a rambunctious child and strong-willed teenager. He often helped with dinner services, and continued to do so while attending college. Skaia University will leave a seat open in his memory."

Crimson Creations, the family restaurant, was already slotted for a one day closure during the graduation ceremony, to be held tomorrow. The closure has now been extended, and the business will not reopen for another week. During this time, the Vantas family requests privacy and understanding from the local community.

* * *

**From the SkaiaNet News Website obituaries, dated 15 May 2015...**

VANTAS, Karkat Shaan, born June 12, 1994, died on May 14, 2015, at age 20. He was preceded in death by his beloved grandparents and his childhood pet, Fluffwad the cat. An astute student at Skaia University, he was set to graduate today. Karkat was well known for his strong opinions and loud mouth, but was a kind and loving soul. His death has shocked the family, and will leave an indelible scar. A public viewing will be held on Monday, May 18.

The Vantas family thanks the staff of Becquerel Hospital for their dedicated service and care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **As usual, comments and feedback and suggestions are welcome on this and all of my other fics! Be sure to[check out my blog](http://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/)!**


	2. Wait for It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat begins his journey in the Space Between, and meets someone... interesting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named for the song from which the title is drawn. [**Yes, it's from goddamned _Hamilton_.**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ReTP6x_sDiM) Sue me, Lin.

The last thing Karkat Vantas remembers is the vision of a pair of bright headlights. He remembers the unnerving crunch of breaking bone, the creaking of bending metal, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and the smell of gasoline. Against the blackness, with his eyes closed, he can see it: the semi-trailer approaches and rams into the car, crumpling it like a tin can. In the rearview mirror, he remembers seeing his eyes, wide with terror, as the events unfolded. After the initial impact, his head slammed into the steering wheel. Then, there was darkness.

Yet, now, he wakes. He jolts upright and runs his fingers through his hair. It's as thick and sleek as it usually is. There are no bandages, no staples, no stitches. He looks at his own hands, and finds his medium brown skin smooth and unharmed. He brings his hands to his face, and once again finds no signs of injury.

He still wears the same jeans and Skaia University shirt as he'd been wearing before the crash. His grey sneakers are still on his feet. Obviously, someone didn't even bother to change him into a hospital gown.

"Fuck," he grumbles.

The room around him smells of bleach. The walls are a sterile white, as is the ceiling, and the light blue tiled floor shines bright enough for him to see his own reflection. Not surprisingly, he's met by a look of pure confusion.

"Fuck," he repeats.

After a few moments, he slides from his spot atop the hospital bed. He steps outside, into the bustling hallway. According to the signs on the wall, he's in the ICU.

"That can't be right," he says, thinking aloud. How could he be in the ICU? He's uninjured!

To his left, he sees a doctor approaching. He speaks up. "Hey, sir, can you explain...?"

The doctor doesn't answer. In fact, he keeps walking straight towards him. Karkat braces for the inevitable collision, yet finds that the man simply passes through him.

"FUCK!"

Karkat stumbles. He slumps against a nearby wall, his breathing ragged and heavy, and tries to make sense of everything.

"This is a dream!" he declares. "This is a fucking stupid dream!" he peels himself away from the wall and continues onwards. "I can fucking prove it, too! You can't read in dreams. At least, that's what Vriska says. You can't read in dreams so I'll just..." As he speaks, Karkat moves onwards. He steps into a quiet waiting room and approaches a low wooden table, from which he attempts to pluck the latest newspaper. Yet, when his hand reaches it, he simply passes through. He tries again, and gets the same result.

A groan of frustration escapes him, and he resorts to simply peering at it from where he stands.

"Drunk Driver Who Killed Local Teenager in Crash to be Charged with Manslaughter!" declares the front page.

Karkat huffs. So, what? Vriska might have been wrong. He turns, leaving the newspaper behind, and continues onwards. If the paper's date is right, he's missed his own graduation. Not that it matters. After all, this _is_ a dream. He might as well try and enjoy it, seeing as he's in control.

He walks through the hospital, sometimes stopping to watch people go about their daily lives, until he reaches the front lobby. The entire time, no one pays any attention to him. No one intentionally looks at him, and, certainly, no one speaks to him. He's growing accustomed to the silence.

And, then, it's broken.

A young man walks through the sliding doors. He walks _through_ them. They don't open for him; he simply drifts past them like a ghost. Yet, he appears as solid as everyone else. He's tall, perhaps even six feet, and he wears a pair of black slacks and a heavily starched collared shirt. His hair is a vivid golden blond, and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of mirrored black aviators. Yet, it seems that this man sees Karkat. In fact, he jumps. He stumbles back, mutters under his breath, and slowly approaches.

When he speaks, his voice carries a thick southern accent. It's soft and melodious, though there's a rough quality beneath it all. "Well, butter my ass and stick me in a fuckin' toaster! It's someone new!" Despite his commentary, his expression remains apathetic. "I haven't seen anyone else in the Space Between since... Maybe last year."

Karkat groans. Of all the people his unconscious mind could possibly come up with, it spits out this walking rodeo? "We're in Becquerel Hospital, you fucking shithead. What the hell are you even going on about?"

"Oh." The man pauses. He buries his hands in his pockets, cocks his head to the side, and frowns. "Well, first of all, name's Dave Strider. Secondly, I'm dead. And, third... Oh, boy, I'm about to fuckin' rock your world. Get out a guitar and get ready to jam, because this is some wild shit..."

"Get to the fucking point," Karkat snaps.

Dave doesn't acknowledge this interruption. He continues, "Buddy, you're dead! You've passed on, and I'm guessin' you were on your way to the other side when something in you went, 'Oh. Fuck. I think I left the curling iron on.'" Here, his lips twitch, forming a fraction of a smile. "Whatever the hell you left on, it bound you to this world. You're stuck here until you figure out what it was you needed."

"This is some batshit dream," Karkat grumbles.

"It ain't a dream. This is real. This is realer than real. You're a ghost!" Despite the topic, Dave seems quite cheerful about all of this. "You're the kid from earlier, right? Skaia University?"

"How the hell do you know that?"

Dave shrugs. He folds his arms across his chest. "Your death's all over the news. Can't watch anything without ticker tape at the bottom sayin' something about you kickin' the proverbial bucket."

"Really?" Karkat feigns interest. He can hear Dave, as he continues speaking, but chooses to ignore it. Instead, he walks outside. He crosses the parking lot, and steps into the busy street leading to the hospital. If anything is going to wake him up, this will.

"You know," Dave's voice interrupts Karkat's thoughts. "You can keep trying to escape, but you ain't gettin' out of here."

Karkat rolls his eyes. He stares down the approaching SUV, braces himself, and...

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The car passes through him, and he remains stuck in...

Wherever the hell he is.

Wherever the hell he is, he's stuck, and he's damned pissed about it.

"I _cannot_ be dead," Karkat says, emphatically, "I _cannot be dead_! I'm supposed to be graduating from college! I had an internship at Skaia City Hall! This is absolute BULLSHIT! A cow came along, shat out its own intestine, ate them, and then shat them back out again. That's how many levels of goddamned bullshit this is!" Defeated, he returns to the sidewalk. He sits down, buries his head in his hands, and groans. "How the hell am I dead!? I never even hit twenty-one."

"Damn." Dave punctuates his comment with a whistle. "That sucks."

A groan. Karkat's eyes burn and, after a few seconds, he feels tears running down his face. "And you! You can fuck right on off. Go back to whatever annoying hick town you came from."

"Ouch," Dave says, his voice flat. "Now, look, I might be a hick, but I've been here a while. I can probably help you out."

"If you want to help, you can fucking leave," Karkat mutters.

Dave sighs. Though he moves, his footsteps are silent. He sits down and drapes an arm over Karkat's shoulder.

And, despite the insistence that he wanted to be left alone, Karkat finds himself leaning into the stranger's embrace. He notes that Dave has a peculiar smell, a mixture of tobacco, alcohol, and old leather. Through his own internal chaos, he wonders if he, too, has some sort of ungodly afterlife smell.

"It's gonna be fine, dude," Dave says, his voice akin to the gentle song of a mother calming a child, "Realizing you're dead is the first step, so you're on your way. Some people don't even get this far."

His commentary doesn't lighten Karkat's mood, but, oddly enough, it does soothe him.

For what feels like forever, Karkat lets his feelings spill out. He sobs into the shirt of a virtual stranger, until he feels as if he's drained his body of all its water. When he's finally calmed, he finds that the sun has set. The air is thick and humid, and the traffic has trickled to little more than the occasional passing car. Though he wipes his nose on his sleeve, it remains dry. In fact, despite the pouring rain, which started perhaps an hour ago, his clothes are pristine.

And, to his credit, Dave remains at his side. He says little, and his face maintains the same look of pure, unfiltered apathy. His lips form a line of indifference, and his eyes stare straight ahead. However, the fact that the man chooses to stay says something. What, exactly, it says is up for debate.

"Campus isn't far from here," Karkat says, eventually shrugging Dave's hand from his shoulder. He stands up, looks around, and begins heading eastward. "I might as well go see what's happening. Graduation should be over by now. I'm sure everyone is throwing their shit into a bag faster than they should be and getting the fuck off campus."

Dave nods. He neither confirms nor denies the statement, though he does stand and follow. "Well, then, I'll follow you. It's confusing as hell out there. Might as well have some backup, right?"

"We're already dead," Karkat grumbles, rolling his eyes. "What the hell could happen?"

"Well, the Space Between is filled with some whacky shit. It's a whole whack-a-mole scenario of bullshit, actually. You've got deceivers, The Conquerer, and The Devourer for starters. And, let me make sure you ain't worrying that pretty little head of yours too much. The deceivers are exactly what they sound like. They trick you into forking over your soul. They don't get shit from it, they just think it's fun. The Conquerer and Devourer just kind of... Well, they eat you. You go in, and you never come out. Your existence ain't shit after that, my man."

Karkat nods. He doesn't exactly believe what he's being told, but he's unsure of whether or not he's in a position to disprove it. Instead, he keeps his lips sealed. He looks ahead and continues onwards, walking down the dark road alongside some loose-lipped stranger.

* * *

Karkat avoids his own dorm building. He has no desire to see what sort of havoc his death has wrought upon his family, and he's in no mood to experience any further grief. Instead, he decides to head for Rose's room. Dave stays in the hallway, opting not to enter.

Rose, though an acquaintance, was never exactly his friend; she was his best friend's girlfriend. They were on amicable terms, but that's about as far as it got. She's a short woman with a curvy build, and she prefers to keep her hair out of her face. Now is no different, as her usual black headband is in place. She's in the middle of taking down her curtains when Karkat arrives, albeit hesitantly. She turns around.

"DEAR GOD!" Rose drops the drapery. She stares directly at Karkat, her eyes wide. However, there's no fear. In fact, she quickly regains her composure. "I don't recall letting you into my room..."

Karkat frowns. As far as he's concerned, Rose is simply speaking to herself. Whoever she's conversing with isn't visible to him, so...

"I'm looking right at you, now, don't be such a prude, Karkat."

Now, he jumps. "You can see me? And you're not going to shit yourself over it?"

Rose responds with a laugh. The sound is soft and pleasant, and there's a quality oddly similar to the ringing of wind chimes to it. The more Karkat interacts with Rose, the more he understands how Kanaya fell for her. "Kanaya never told you?" She leans in and, with a mischievous smile, continues, "I see dead people."

"That would be a fucking weird thing to drop out of the blue about your girlfriend, so, no."

"Well, now you know. It's intriguing that you're here, though, because we were just discussing your untimely death at graduation. Kanaya will be overjoyed to learn that you're still with us... In a sense, at least."

Now, Karkat simply nods. He folds his arms across his chest. "Has this been a thing for a while, or...?"

"I haven't seen any spirits lately." Rose shrugs. She leans over, gathers the curtains, and folds them. Then, she places them in her bag. "It's nice to see you again, though. I assume your unfortunate side effects have disappeared?"

"Side effects?" Karkat's voice is halfway between a confused huff and a scoff. "From what?"

"You were t-boned by a semi-trailer, Karkat. You were in a natural coma in the hospital, actually," Rose says.

The information both disturbs and intrigues its recipient. Karkat nods slowly, allows the information to sink in, and sighs thoughtfully. "Well, that sounds like a fucking headache. No, I'm fine. And, actually. I was going to go soon. Not sure where, but I was just going to walk around."

"That's fair."

Karkat turns. He begins to depart, then pauses. Though he doesn't face Rose, he provides one final message. "Hey, if you see my family, tell them I'm fine."

"I would be honored to deliver such a message," Rose says. Though Karkat can't see it, there's a small smile on her face. "Safe travels, Karkat."

"You too." At this point, he departs. He slips through the door without opening it, and emerges into the hallway. There, he's greeted by the annoying blond from before. The two meet each other's gaze, then begin walking back, retracing their steps.


	3. Bitch of Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dave and Karkat begin to navigate this pseudo-purgatory, Rose and Kanaya discuss an intriguing theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a song from _Spring Awakening_ , and you're free to enjoy whatever version you choose. The one I'm linking is from Deaf West's production of the show. [**The video contains two songs, but the link is set to play the song named here**](https://youtu.be/ON1QK6w1AJU?t=120)!

Rose has always been able to see the dead. It began when she was young. She had an imaginary friend, a woman known as Calliope. This friend told her of things that no one else seemed capable of believing. She spoke of a place known as the Space Between, where a wandering soul goes to contemplate its true purpose.

It was fascinating, almost mystical, until something else appeared. A man, his features obscured by shadows, would haunt her dreams. He'd whisper to her, telling her of the suffering of lost souls. He would chide her, and torture her with the pleas of the hopeless. A sadistic poem, a sort of demonic lullaby, was often repeated:

_"When some men die, their souls remain;_  
_I feel their fear, consume their pain._  
_No joy, no love, no feelings here,_  
_Where war persists, there's only fear."_

Eventually, Rose learned to live with the intrusions. She considered them little more than nuisances, a persistent, unconscious nightmare. Now, though, she begins to wonder if they mean more. Perhaps, these morbid rhymes are a clue...

"I saw Karkat today. Well... I saw his ghost," she says. She looks at her phone, which shows an image of her girlfriend, and offers a reassuring smile. "He said he's fine."

A sniffle. Kanaya nods. Though she's often the picture of poise, it's obvious that Karkat's death was an unexpected blow. Her dark brown cheeks are streaked with tears, and her bright green eyes are watery. "Really? That's good to hear."

"He's not uncomfortable, either." Rose props her phone up on her desk, and continues packing up her dorm room. "It got me thinking, though... You recall the dreams I've told you about, right?"

"Indeed," Kanaya nods.

Despite some doubts about proceeding further with the discussion, Rose keeps going. "What if they weren't just dreams? Perhaps there _is_ another world. A sort of existence which, superimposed on ours, represents a place of unrest."

Kanaya responds with a thoughtful hum. A sigh. "This seems intriguing, but it might just be ghosts. It could even be a sort of vision of comfort. You've spoken of them."

"I have," admits Rose, "But I think there might be something more to this." Here, she pauses. She'll be moving in with Kanaya soon, and a realization has struck her. "You live near a library, do you not?"

"I do."

"Well, then, would you like to help me? I believe that there might be a reason Karkat appeared, and it could be that there's something he has to do. If we can help him, he could have closure. _You_ could have closure."

Again, Kanaya sighs. She tangles her fingers in her thick, tightly curled hair. "I... Suppose. I trust you, Rose, so... You have a point. I do believe that, particularly due to the violent and sudden nature of Karkat's death, he had some unfulfilled things to tend to."

Rose can't help but smile. She hadn't a clue how this discussion would end, but she's relieved it's going well. "I propose we start by researching the mythologies which surround death."

"That sounds like a good idea." Kanaya leans back in her seat. She fiddles with a mechanical pencil. "Perhaps there are some religious traditions to shed light on the topic."

By now, Rose has finished putting away most of the small items. Now, only the larger things remain. She must pack her computer, printer, and knitting supplies. "Well, then, I'll be at your place tomorrow morning. How about I bring my stuff inside, then we meander on over to the library?"

"A spectacular idea, as I'd expect from you. I shall expect you here tomorrow morning. Until then, sleep well." Kanaya offers a small grin.

Rose, too, smiles. She blows a kiss to the phone, then hangs up.

* * *

To Karkat, the strangest thing about being dead is the fact that he doesn't need sleep. He has been awake since 5:00 PM yesterday, and remains perfectly fine at 5:00 AM despite walking a great distance. He's left the main heart of Skaia, and is now roving around the suburbs. In fact, he's verging on the rural zones of the area.

Now, he stands before one of the city's most historic households. It's one of the oldest in the region, and was built before the American Civil War. Of course, that gives it a great amount of ghost stories. Ever since he was a child, he heard tales of how the voices of the house's dead owners compeled a man to shoot his father to death before jumping into the nearby lake. He's never believed it, and he still doesn't. Nonetheless, there's a certain irony to looking at the local haunted house as a ghost.

"I used to live there," Dave says. The commentary startles Karkat, who had forgotten about his unwanted traveling companion. "It's a pretty shitty place, especially when it's not fixed up."

Karkat scoffs. He rolls his eyes and laughs. "Were there any of those spooky ghosts they always talk about?"

Dave shrugs. His face remains emotionless, though there seems to be a faint hint of discomfort. "Not really. There ain't that much to the place, maybe besides some rats and bugs."

A nod. Perhaps for want of something to do, Karkat begins to observe some nearby birds. They're perched in a nearby tree, whose leaves have only just begun to grow back. "So, you seem to know how I was fucking eviscerated. What about you? How did you end up leaving the mortal coil and being bound to this unlovable hell zone?"

To this, Dave responds with a frown. When he speaks, his tone is far too sharp to be inconspicuous. "You don't need to know that, pal. I ain't goin' to pry into your business, and you ain't gettin' into mine. Deal?"

Karkat, rather than pushing the topic, simply nods. While he's sure he can't die again, he doesn't want to push it. For some reason, he feels that Dave can do some damage if he needs to, and he doesn't want to be the one testing that theory. "Fair enough."

"Great." Dave turns away from Karkat. He folds his arms across his chest and sets his shades atop his head. This reveals his eyes, which are an odd shade of red-tinted hazel. "I mean... I died way back when, in the fuckin' 40's. Life was as shit then as it is now."

"Wow. Someone's edgy," says Karkat. A smirk crosses his features

Dave remains silent. His expression is as enigmatic as ever.

The weather is clear and cool, and there's a pleasant breeze, but it's beginning to warm up. The first signs of humidity are appearing, and they begin to weigh on the air. Yet, unlike he would expect, Karkat feels no true discomfort. It's an unsettling experience, though he supposes everything about his situation is unsettling.

"You see that?" As he speaks, Dave points forwards. His finger is aimed at a shadowy figure. The shape is human, yet the form is pure black. It has no eyes. It has no features. It doesn't move, yet it still floats to the east.

Karkat, now thoroughly unnerved, nods.

Dave continues, "We call those Husks. They're nasty fuckers, but they won't hurt you. Keep 'em in mind, though, because that could be you. Get yourself caught up with the wrong sort of spirits, and you'll end up in some demon's fuckin' line. If you're lucky, you'll get the chomp. They'll wipe your consciousness from existence, and you never have to deal with anything again. Granted, you won't find out what's on the mystical other side, but that's fine."

"That's the fucking good option?" Karkat mutters, his voice small.

"Yeah. The bad one is that. Deceivers take you to a Harvester, and they suck you dry of your thoughts and memories. They let what's left go, and you'll wander aimlessly forever. There's no going back, there's no passing on. You just float around like those stupid sea monkeys in a jar, supposedly with only some vague idea of who you were. I wouldn't know, and I don't want to ever fuckin' know if that's true." Despite his commentary, Dave punctuates his statement with a shrug. He looks to Karkat, though his face shows no trace of emotion. There's no fear, nor is there any sort of bravery. He's simply indifferent.

And, this bothers Karkat. It makes him wonder what sort of company this man is, yet he doesn't want to question it. If all he says is true, then it's best to have someone experienced on his side. "That's one fucking shitty way to go."

"You're tellin' me." Dave nods in agreement, then turns to the west. He motions for his adoptive charge to follow him. "Anyhow, where are you planning on going?"

"Fuck if I know." A strong breeze rustles through the trees and agitates the overgrown grass. It makes the house creak and groan, and a chill runs down Karkat's spine. He shakes his head. "Not here. Let's just.. Make it back to the city. Rose should be moving in with Kanaya around now."

"Rose? That's the gal you saw yesterday."

"Yeah. She's a fucking genius, and I'm sure she'll have enough freaky psychology knowledge to tell me what the hell I have to do to get out of this shitty place." Karkat shoves his hands into his pockets and turns. He begins walking back to the city, following the only road in sight. He doesn't bother checking to see if Dave is following; he knows he is. "I'm not exactly feeling warm and fuzzy about sticking around in this place, so I'd like to go wherever the hell I was supposed to go when I died. It's shit enough that I didn't even get to graduate. I spent all that goddamned time and energy amassing this knowledge, and it's all fucking useless!"

"Yeah. The ghost zone ain't the best place to get a job," Dave says. "The biggest bummer is that you're still bound by the laws of physics. I'm dead, dude, I don't want to be stuck walking everywhere."

"There are no vehicles?" Karkat asks.

Dave shrugs, though this goes unseen. "Not really. Cars aren't sentient, so they don't have a place here. Dogs and cats are, but they fulfill their purpose just by fuckin' existing. They pass right on through the pearly gates, those lucky bastards."

Karkat sighs.

It figures that he'd be stuck with some jackass with a delusion of helpfulness.

"Can we sleep in this realm?"

Again, seemingly disregarding the knowledge that Karkat won't see it, Dave shrugs. "You can, but it won't do anything. You'll just dream, and those ain't pretty dreams. They're nightmares. That's why I don't sleep. See, you go through life makin' choices. Some are good, some ain't. Well, here, you're reminded of all the ones that were absolute shit. Remember when you told some fuckin' nobody they were an asshole? This realm is going to show you how you fucked that kid's life up forever."

"Shit." The word leaves Karkat involuntarily. He bows his head and picks up the pace. "I think I'll just stay awake like I've been doing for the past four fucking years, then."

"That's a solid plan."

"Hmph." Karkat continues down the road, following it until it begins to widen. Two lanes turn to four, then to six. Sparsely populated fields turn to suburbs, then to densely packed neighborhoods, then to a hodgepodge of skyscrapers and high rise buildings.

Eventually, they arrive at a fairly ritzy building. A small overhang protects the sliding glass doors, and the front is marked by large letters. "Hermitage Suites" isn't exactly the home of millionaires, but it's not the average run-of-the-mill apartment complex.

Kanaya's place is on the third floor, and it's easy to access as a ghost. There's no need to enter passcodes or speak to people via static-laden intercoms. Dave and Karkat simply pass through the entryway and go up the stairs. Their destination happens to be apartment 311.

The commons area is spacious and inviting. The warm tones of the floor blend with the neutral beige walls, and an open concept design allows for a perfect view of the living room from the luxurious kitchen. Everything is kept in its place, though Rose's things remain strewn about the space. Boxes, presumably filled with Rose's stuff, are haphazardly stacked throughout the living room. Clothes hang from the handles on the cabinets.

A small note is set on the dining room table, and the looping cursive immediately gives away the identity of its author. Even with text alone, Karkat can hear Rose's voice as he reads it, "Gone to research your situation. Will be back later this evening. Kanaya sends her warmest regards!"


	4. Old Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is from _Phantom of the Paradise_ , a 1974 Brian de Palma film, and it's written by Paul Williams. You can [**listen to it here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2y6AAEwcNM)!

If there's one thing that Karkat Vantas is sure of, it's that Dave knows more about the Space Between than he lets on. In fact, everything about Dave Strider screams suspicious. He refuses to speak about his own past, avoiding every attempt he makes at finding out more. There's a general lack of trust between the two, and it's a fact that's without contest. It's as obvious as the sun in the sky.

Despite traveling alongside him for the past three days, he's yet to learn anything of any value about his companion. This is particularly surprising, as Karkat finds that Dave rarely shuts up. Yet, nothing he says is worth anything. He likes dogs. His favorite color is red. When he was a child, he dreamed of being a famous musician. He plays guitar. It's all frivolous detail.

"You have any family?" Karkat once asked.

Dave didn't respond.

He never responds to personal questions, and that fact is beginning to weigh on Karkat. Who is he? What happened to him? How did he get here, and why is he so damn determined to help him?

"Hey!" Dave's voice interrupts Karkat's thoughts. "Getting hot out, ain't it?" As he says this, he rolls up his sleeves. He buttons them in place, revealing an array of thin, straight-edged scars. They run in every direction and vary in length. A crude tattoo of a sword is on his wrist. It seems to bear more information, but he hides his hands in his pockets before any further details are obvious.

"I guess." Karkat raises his brows. He frowns, slouches, and wanders onwards. Now that Dave has mentioned it, though, he can't help but feel the humidity. He feels his shirt clinging to his sweaty skin, but it remains loose and unaffected. "So, what? I have to figure out what the hell I was missing out on when I was alive?"

"Pretty much," Dave shrugs.

A nod. When he breathes in, Karkat smells the wet dirt around them. He feels the tall grass brushing against his legs, yet it doesn't stir. He feels the tiny droplets of the heavy fog around them as they hit his skin, yet he knows that he's not outlined against the mist. "And how in fuck's name am I supposed to do that?"

Another shrug. Dave turns and begins to walk backwards. He cocks his head to the side and breathes a pensive sigh. "Well, lots of people have different ideas 'bout that. Who knows? Some people pray, some people do some sort of fuckin' freaky introspection, and others will just wander aimlessly."

Karkat falls silent. He considers these options, but finds that none of them appeal to him. When he was alive, introspection was the bane of his existence. Religion has never been a core aspect of his person. And, finally, he doesn't exactly want to spend who-knows-how-long alongside this motormouth blond. Then again, he doesn't have many options. To be fair, the only thing he _could_ do is contact Rose. Surely, she'll know something about all of this...

* * *

Wayward Shepherd's Library is an opulent place. It was built within the decaying shell of an old train station, and its furnishings were chosen to match the setting. Mahogany desks with flowering legs adorned with scrolls and clawed feet rest before massive glass windows. The clock, which is several yards in diameter, still ticks away with the utmost diligence, relaying its time to the world. Inside, it is mostly silent. The only sounds are occasional rumbling whispers, the flutter of turning pages, and the clacking of footsteps across the marble floor tiles.

And, amidst all this, there is Rose Lalonde. She sits at one of the desks, and large leather-bound books surround her. Each is very, very old, and she had to acquire special permissions just to handle them. She wears white gloves, the fabric of which is intended to slow the aging of the pages she's handling, and scribbles notes down in a rather chaotic journal. Pages of yellowing looseleaf paper jut from it, as do frayed sticky notes, and it appears that the volume is simply added on to over time.

Right now, she hovers over the fading ink of one of the larger tomes. An abstract design is etched in gold onto the leather cover of the volume, which bears the title of _The Tome of the Realm Beyond_. Its author is unknown, as are its origins. The only certainty is that it was published approximately one hundred years ago.  (In fact, it's an extremely uncommon book; Skaia's Wayward Shepherd's Library is one of only a few hundred places in the world to possess a copy. Few people have ever heard of it, and even fewer have seen it themselves. PDF versions exist online, and in great abundance, but Rose has no trust in their words. Instead, she chose to see for herself what the volume says.)

At this very moment, her heart is racing. Her eyes are locked on one page, upon which a flourishing script has penned a familiar poem.

 _"When some men die, their souls remain;_  
_I feel their fear, consume their pain._  
_No joy, no love, no feelings here,_  
_Where war persists, there's only fear."_

What truly excites Rose, however, isn't this, alone. No, the poem is only part of it. To Rose's astonishment, the dark mantra she's often heard in her dreams is only part of a large piece. If this tome is to believed, it continues.

 _"In darkness waits the eternal strife,_  
_It feeds on sorrows and leeches life_  
_From all who enter, oft unarmed,_  
_Against that which preys on those easily charmed._

 _And those who wander, those who veer_  
_From the set path created here,_  
_In death's domain, may come to see_  
_What true death was meant to be."_

The poetry creates a veritable stew of conflicting emotions within Rose. She's delighted to have found information, yet she dreads its meaning. The words have an uncanny elegance, yet they portray a place of unprecedented danger.

Beyond this, it appears that there is more to the poem. There seems to be a large spot on the page. Now, it's blank. However, Rose is sure that something was there. At some point, the rest of the poem occupied the space, yet it's been erased from existence. The purpose of such an act is beyond Rose's comprehension, though she's sure she'll uncover the reasoning as she delves deeper into the mystery...

"It appears that the Space Between is a purely theoretical place," Kanaya says. Her voice draws Rose's attention to her girlfriend, who sits on the opposite side of the table. "Nothing is mentioned of it in any academic publications of note."

"Well, academics aren't always fond of acknowledging something they can't fully explain, correct?" Rose says.

After a thoughtful hum and a slow nod, Kanaya agrees. She absentmindedly runs her fingers along the the corner of the academic journal set before her. "That's true, Rosie. So, you suggest I follow your lead and look for less conventional sources?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"Karkat has been dead for three days," Kanaya says, gathering the stack of official publications on her side of the desk. She sets them aside, placing them in the tray of books to be reshelved, before returning to Rose. "You haven't heard from him since?"

"No, but I'm sure he's fine." Though Rose doesn't know this for sure, she has a strange sense that nothing of any consequence has befallen Karkat. At the very least, Karkat is doing well out there, wherever he is...

* * *

Though it's late May, the nights can get cold. Tonight is the perfect example. The temperature has dropped considerably, and the humidity has all but disappeared. The once inviting warm hues of the grassy cemetery have shifted, taking on more menacing cool tones. There's a strange crispness to the air, and there's a palpable sense of despair.

Everywhere Karkat looks, it seems that there's someone hovering over a grave. An old man in tattered military fatigues lays on the ground, smoke rising from his pipe. A seemingly lost child sits in the shade of a swaying willow, while a small group of teenagers huddle around a crumbling stone obelisk. By now, Karkat has learned to differentiate the living from the dead. These people—the spirits which surround him—all possess a silvery glow. Even he has this trait. It's a faint outline, almost like a video game character selector, which clings to the edges of their forms. And, in the dim light of the sparse streetlights, barely bolstered by the almost invisible sliver of the new moon, that glow allows for some semblance of vision.

By this faint light, Karkat navigates the rows of headstones and plaques. He passes through disorganized jumbles of long-forgotten headstones, whose engraved memories have been lost to time. Eventually, he approaches his target. A plain headstone with a decorative urn atop sits in the shadow of a pine tree. A bouquet of flowers is laid at its base, and the ground beneath him is fresh and springy.

He sees his own name etched in stone, alongside the dates of his birth and death. The epitaph is simple, "Beloved son and friend." He often voiced his disdain for a more poetic memorial, though he finds himself reconsidering this. Far in the future, who will remember him as anything more than a hollow statement of his relationships?

"Before you start gettin' the waterworks up and runnin', I'm going to point out that you're lucky you got something. Hell, it took fuckin' years for anyone to notice I was even dead! I was just thrown into a crematorium and dumped in some unknown location." Dave's voice intrudes on an otherwise somber moment. The edges of his lips are curled into the slightest of smirks, and his arms are folded across his chest. His back is straight, and it seems as if he's daring Karkat to mourn.

However, Karkat will have none of this. He's entitled to his emotions, and he's not about to let some smug bastard—a person he barely knows—dictate that. He turns to Dave, offers him a rude gesture, and turns back to his own grave. Clearly, his parents spared no expense. The tent is still up, and an army of flowers surround the marker. Cards from friends are stuck to the smooth marble.

Behind him, Dave scuffs his feet against the dirt. The action produces neither sound nor dust. "Damn, dude. Must be nice having people care about you being dead. It won't last long, of course. People move on."

"You're a fucking rude piece of shit. Did you know that?" Karkat stands. He turns back to his traveling companion. His fingers are curled into tight fists. "Are you like this with everyone?"

"Pretty much." Dave shrugs. A battered suit jacket, the sort that would've been popular in the late 1960's, appears on him. The lapel is frayed, the fabric worn raw, and the sleeves are covered in straight-edged slices. "You could have a more fuckin' productive use for your time than coming here just to mope about being dead. I mean, I did that shit for nearly two decades. It ain't worth anything, and it sure as hell won't get you anywhere."

A growl escapes Karkat. He lunges forwards and aims a punch at Dave's face.

Instead, he's met by a disinterested shrug. A knee slams into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs (or, at least, whatever the ghostly equivalent is), and sending him to the ground. A huff of defeat and discomfort escapes him. "Fuck you, Strider. You're a goddamned pain in the ass."

"I've been told. But I'm also one of the only spirits I know of to have survived this long in this hell space. I'm trying to help you, pal. Don't mistake my help for sincere commentary about your life. That ain't my fuckin' business. That was part of the deal, pal. I help you, and you don't question me."

"I never even made a deal with you, you goddamned—" Karkat lunges again, only to miss. He falls flat into the freshly mowed grass.

"If you want me to leave, I can leave, but you'll regret it."

Karkat sighs. He rolls over, onto his back, and stares at the stars. He closes his eyes and tangles his fingers in his hair. If there's one thing that he cannot stand, it's Dave Strider. He would rather die _again_ than deal with the smug bastard. Then again, he doesn't exactly want to risk his chance at a better life. Sure, he has no clue what lies on the other side, but it has to be better than _this_...

He considers taking Dave up on the offer, and telling the annoying bastard to just shut up and fuck off. Then again, if he does that, he'll just have to figure things out for himself. And, factoring in the uncertainty of his own existence and a growing sense that this world isn't as peaceful as it seems, leaving himself defenseless and aloof sounds like a terrible plan...

"We might want to leave." The simpering, unbearable tone has vanished from Dave's voice. Now, there's a sense of agency.

Karkat follows his gaze, and his eyes fall upon a hulking shadow. It stands on two legs, like a human, yet all similarities end there. It possesses too many angular edges to be human. Torn batlike wings extend from its figure, and it appears to have four arms. Its claws appear to be busy ripping into something and, in the newfound silence, Karkat can hear the sounds of crunching bone and deep, guttural snarls. "Jesus fucking—"

"Shut up and move," Dave interrupts. He grabs Karkat by the wrist and begins to sprint, dragging the hapless man behind him like a ragdoll. "Don't attract any attention, and you won't be that bastard's next meal."

"What the fucking hell!?" sputters Karkat, finally regaining his footing. He pulls away from Dave's grasp, but continues to run.

"I'll explain later, but we have to to fuckin' leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, feedback, theories, and suggestions are always welcome! You can also check out [**my Tumblr blog**](http://godtiermeme.tumblr.com) for more! I also didn't beta this chapter at all so if you see typos, feel free to tell me!


	5. Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's the Hamilton song. I didn't beta this chapter at all, so let me know if you find any typos!

Dave Strider sits on a park bench. The air is begining to heat up, the humidity is rising, and he's quick to allow the jacket he'd summoned to fade away. He stares upwards, towards the slowly drifting clouds, and does his best to avoid thinking about his newfound companion, Karkat.

It's been two years since he last had any significant human contact.

Two years ago, he had taken on another charge. An older woman, perhaps in her late fifties, died of a heart attack. He befriended her, then helped her reconcile her problems. She passed on peacefully, leaving him with the items she had been carrying. They were all useless, though he's repurposed some of them. Her empty Tic Tac box now serves as a vessel for spare bullets, which are hard to come by in the Space Between, and her old change purse is now a means for Dave to keep his medical supplies separate from his other things. While spirits are unable to die from most wounds, those injuries still exist. They continue to plague a spirit, and create all the symptoms they would while alive.

After this, Dave secluded himself. He stayed away from populated areas and avoided forming any bonds. After all, why should he? Everyone he grew close to would leave him. It was inevitable. The closest he ever came to having a true friend was a young man by the name of John, who had died shortly after him. The two were inseparable until John passed on three years later.

Since then, Dave has maintained a policy. He aids those who need help, but he refuses any attempts at personal connection. Disconnect is the pinnacle of his existence; a lack of connections and sentimental feelings towards others is a source of pride.

Beyond this, he's nothing. He considers himself a dark spot on the face of the earth. He's a mistake. His existence was never meant to happen, yet it did. He was never supposed to be alive, and he was never supposed to haunt this realm...

"You never told me what the fuck that goddamned... That... What the hell was that fucking unnatural beast?" Karkat's voice interrupts Dave's thoughts. His brows are furrowed, his jaw set, and an air of determination hangs about him.

Dave, in return, shrugs. He folds his arms across his chest, though he never meets Karkat's gaze. In his experience, the best way to become attached to someone is to look them in the eyes. And, with this particular spirit's determination, he's certain that there won't be much time to have any sort of emotional connection. "The Devourer. Beelzebub. You can call him whatever the hell you want, but he's fuckin' nasty either way. You get caught by him, and you can kiss your ass goodbye. 'So long, dear existence! It was wonderful to know thee!' That's typically what happens with him." Dave shrugs. Running from this particular demon has been a constant facet of his life for decades. The longer a spirit goes in the Space Between, the more attention it draws from demons. Enduring spirits have power, and demons crave just that...

"Satan?" Karkat asks, tilting his head to the side.

Dave frowns. "Satan's not really part of the Space Between. Nah, this is Beelzebub. Completely different ass to fuck with, pal." He shoves his hands in his pockets and sits atop a nearby rock. "Now, you want to get out of here, right?"

"I'd like to have to deal with your incessant, annoying presence as little as possible. Yes," Karkat huffs. His arms are folded across his chest, his brows are furrowed, and his jaw is set. Despite his size, there's something threatening about him. While Dave wouldn't consider Karkat someone with a lot of strength, he feels as though the man has enough determination to make up for it. "I just want to know how to fucking die. That sounds horrible, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but so is being a goddamned ghost. You don't even get to annoy people, dammit!" Dave rolls his eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. While such consumable goods are rare in the Space Between, he's been around long enough to build a hefty collection via trading. He turns the container upside down, gently taps the bottom, and palms one of the cigarettes. After sticking it between his lips, he lights it. "On the bright side, you can't get sick here. So I could chain smoke all day if I had the supplies."

"That's not a bright side, you thick-skulled shit-fucker."

"Maybe not for you." Dave breathes forth a plume of smoke. It shines against the blue sky, shimmering like silver water. "Anyhow, this ain't relevant. You want to get out of here? That's all on you, pal. I'm not involved in that shit. It's all more personal than the most fuckin' TMI blog in the world."

"Do you think about what you’re saying, or do you simply let your jaw go slack and regurgitate whatever sort of vile sludge pops into your head?"

"Ouch, dude." There's no feeling to Dave's comment, though he puts his hand over his heart and pouts. "Look, if you don't want my help, you could just tell me. That's a thing you sure can do."

Karkat refuses to look his companion in the eye, though he still offers a reply. "No, you're useful. For now, I'll tolerate you."

Dave, in return, nods. He continues to smoke, watching the resultant puffs of smoke with mild interest. He scans the horizon, watching constantly for any threats. During the day, the Space Between is fairly safe. Still, letting his guard down has never done him much good. As if to emphasize this, he runs his fingers along one of the many old scars on his face.

* * *

Kanaya Maryam isn't a vulnerable person. She has both mental and physical fortitude, and prides herself in her sheer determination. She keeps few close friends, and considers her girlfriend, Rose, her sole confidant. That said, before this, she had Karkat.

The two had met in preschool. Karkat was a verbose, stubborn child. He spoke his mind, swore like a sailor, and had a knack for picking fights. Nonetheless, there was a certain softness to him. He was caring and generous. One day, when Kanaya had forgotten her snack on the bus, Karkat had split his. (Kanaya would never dare tell him that she didn't really like jalebi. In fact, seeing as he's dead, she'll never tell him.) He was quick to offer a helping hand, and seemed to be all talk. He could say harsh things, but his actions betrayed a gentle soul. Needless to say, the pair became fast friends.

As he aged, Karkat's temper fluctuated. When he was thirteen, it hit his peak. He would often end up in the principal's office, though he maintained exceptional grades. After this, he began to mellow out. Perhaps, he began to realize that there were better things to invest his energy in.

Not that any of this really matters. He's dead, now. She'll never see him again, and she's beginning to accept this. Of course, it saddens her, but she knows that she can offer him one final parting gift...

"So, what sort of things would Karkat stay behind for? We're assuming it's not to be some form of guardian angel," Rose says, propping her feet up on the nearby ottoman. Her arm is over Kanaya's shoulder, though her gaze is locked on the television. She isn't really interested in what's playing, but it offers her a distraction.

Kanaya, meanwhile, focuses on the ceiling fan above her. She watches it spin, tracking its movements like a cat stalks a mouse. "He always was a hopeless romantic..."

"That's a definite possibility, then." Now, Rose moves. She grabs her notebook and flips it open. On the first available blank page, she writes this down. "So, love could be a cause. He wasn't dating, was he?"

"He briefly dated in middle and high school. They were brief, passionate things, but they didn't go anywhere. More often than not, he'd be the one to break it off." Kanaya sighs. She folds her arms across her chest and shifts. She drapes her legs over the armrest, and leans her back against her girlfriend. "This is a very definite possibility, but I'm assuming you want to have more than one theory to work with?"

"Mhm." Rose nods. "What else could there be?" Now, she turns off the television. She turns, mirroring Kanaya's pose. "From what I understand, he always wanted to be influential. He had an inexplicable fascination with power."

"His grandfather was, apparently, a beloved figure in his community. I never managed to learn much about it, but it seems that he wanted to emulate his family's legacy. Or, at least, he wanted to be more influential than he would've been staying at the restaurant."

As she speaks, Rose taps her pen against her lips. "Yes, this is yet another possibility. How would one phrase this?"

"Desiring recognition," Kanaya volunteers.

A hum of approval. Rose eagerly writes this down in her notes before continuing. She, too, stares upwards. However, her focus is on the flashing red light of the smoke detector. "I propose another theory. He always wanted to be a lawyer, correct?"

"Yes! Professional aspirations are certainly something people are keen on." Though she responds with excitement at first, Kanaya's mood shifts quickly. She frowns and rubs her chin. "This would be a problem, though. I assume there's no need for lawyers in the afterlife."

"True." There's a hint of concern in Rose's voice, too, but she seems to be more interested in the research possibilities this situation presents. She writes down the latest revelation, then closes her notebook. "These all seem like potential causes for one to haunt this world, so we'll work on these."

"Do you have a theory on which it might be?"

"I'm willing to gamble some money on the first one. I'm going to guess you would, too, so there's no real point in this." A quiet chuckle punctuates Rose's words.

Kanaya, meanwhile, indulges in the fluttering feeling in her heart, which results from the sound of her girlfriend's laughter. "The next time you see him, be sure to tell him all this."

"I will," Rose says. "Not that I've seen him recently. He seems to be wandering about, though I have no clue where."

"It's probably not anything to be concerned about," Kanaya says, waving her hand dismissively.

* * *

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Karkat poses this question with as much hostile skepticism as he can muster. He towers over Dave, watching as the blond pulls the back off of the ghostly remains of his iPhone. "If you break that, I swear to god I'll strangle you right here. I can do that, right? I can just dispose of your unwelcome, otherworldly presence?"

"Hell yeah, you can," Dave nods. He begins to say more, but ultimately decides otherwise. Instead, when the back cover of the phone is finally free, he lets forth a triumphant whoop. He stares at the electronic components, apparently mystified, before tutting. "Nope, this thing is fried. For one thing, electronics don't work in the Space Between."

"YOU'RE TELLING ME THIS WAS ALL FOR NOTHING!?" Karkat exclaims, pulling at his hair. He turns around, stomps a few feet away from his original spot, and yells a string of profanities to the sky. When he finally deems himself calm enough to return, he does. "Do you even know what that thing is?"

"It's a phone. One hell of a thing, too. Back when I was alive, we never would've even imagined shit like this could fuckin' exist!" Now, Dave seems to be enthralled by the task of pulling out the various components. He discards the pieces haphazardly, throwing them without caring where they land.

Naturally, Karkat objects. "You're littering, idiot."

"Objects not bound to their spirit for longer than twenty-four hours disappear." The words are monotonous, as if he's reciting the fact from memory. (Not that this would surprise Karkat. From what he can tell, Dave is an eccentric trivia buff of sorts. At the very least, he knows quite a bit about jazz music...) "So, what? You goin' to strangle me?"

Though Karkat briefly considers going through with his threat, a deep breath and a moment of thought convince him otherwise. However, he makes sure to keep in mind that he can harm things in this ungodly purgatory. "That's too much effort to waste. And, knowing you, you'd come back. You're my punishment for being too goddamned nice when I was alive, and, now, I'm being too goddamned nice when I'm dead."

"Better than being me, and being a fuckin' piece of shit," Dave hums. The comment is spoken without emotion, seemingly as an afterthought.

Naturally, Karkat feels the need to question it. "And what does that mean?"

Dave freezes. He turns, looks towards his self-imposed charge, and shrugs. A look crosses his face, though Karkat can't place its meaning. At the very least, there's hesitancy. His words seem to be chosen with a great amount of care. "Nothing. Don't worry about it, I was just making a shitty joke. Don't get your dick in a knot over it, dude."

An instinctive drive for more information boils within Karkat, but he bites his tongue. For now, he puts this particular issue on the backburner. The way he's thinking about things, he won't have much more time left with Dave Strider. He's determined to find out what's binding him to the earth and to pass to the other side within the next day or so.


	6. Procession of the Celestial Beings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this one is actually a series of songs from _the tale of princess kaguya_ , but the link i'm adding is a compilation from a concert. [**here's the link**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZiLNfcaTzE)! again, this isn't beta'ed. if you see typos, let me know!

It stands in stark contrast to its surroundings. A tiny, shimmering silver tea house is the last thing anyone would expect to see in the middle of a traditional American suburban paradise, but it's exactly what stands in front of Dave and Karkat.

Around it, there's a bamboo grove. Large rocks dot the landscape immediately surrounding it, and a rock path leads to the small entryway. All of it shines with the same ethereal glow, yet it all appears solid. In fact, when Karkat brushes his hand against one of the bamboo stalks, it sways and resists his touch. Though, from experience, Karkat knows there's no water nearby, the gentle gurgling of a nearby stream can be heard. From inside the structure, a woman's voice beckons. It's soft and inviting. "Come in! Come in! I didn't whip up an entire tea house for you two to just stand out there gawking!"

Naturally, Karkat is suspicious. He looks to Dave for guidance.

The blond, in return, grins. Without hesitation, he bows to enter through the tiny passageway. "Jade! It's been forever since I last saw you!" he says.

Karkat, following Dave's lead, follows. However, he's far less eager. He grumbles to himself, uttering obscenities under his breath as his forehead slams against the low entrance.

The inside of the space is pleasantly warm, yet cooler than the sticky, humid air outside. Directly ahead is an alcove, inside of which is set a floral display. A hanging scroll serves as its backdrop. Dave has already kneeled down on the mat closest to the entrance, and a stranger kneels on the mat to the northeast. Her skin is lightly tanned, and her long black hair flows freely. A wide, somewhat dorky grin is spread across her face. When everyone is inside, she bows slightly.

"And you're Karkat Vantas, correct?" Her voice matches the one which beckoned the pair inside. She doesn't wait for a response before turning around. She takes a boiling kettle of water off of its electric warming plate, which is set upon the simplistic array of shelves and drawers in the alcove behind her. "You're quite a character, Karkat." She chuckles.

Karkat blushes, though his complexion hides it. He shrinks backwards, leaning his back against the unadorned wooden wall of the hut. "Whatever."

The woman turns back around. She faces a ceramic cup, which is set before her on the floor. In it, she seems to have placed a chalky green substance. The water is poured over this, and she begins to mix it with a broom-like whisk. "How rude of me! My name is Jade. I'm a friend of Dave's."

"She's a literal goddess," Dave says. He does a poor job of hiding the swooning admiration in his voice, though he maintains his usual apathetic expression. "Damn, Jade, where the fuck have you been? I though somethin' happened to you!"

A quiet chuckle. "No, I've been fine! I've been tending to some other needs, but it seems you've picked up another problem candidate." Having said this, Jade eyes the person in question over. Her free hand reaches up and adjusts her round glasses. "Now, Karkat, it seems you're new to the Space Between..."

"Yeah, and I'm on the next coal-guzzling locomotive out of this fucking place," snaps an irate Karkat.

Jade tuts. She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips, as she continues to stir the mixture. By now, it's beginning to thin out, and it resembles a thick paste. She adds a bit more water, muttering about miscalculating the amount she needed. "I wouldn't count on that. You have quite a few unresolved problems."

"You don't know me!"

"Actually, she does," Dave says.

Jade nods. "Not to brag, but I _am_ known as the Universal Goddess. I'm here to help, friend! I'm one of many Guardians, charged with aiding people like you!" As if to emphasize this, she flicks her wrist. The whisk points towards Karkat, and some of the paste flies off in the process. As he recoils, she giggles. Then, she returns to mixing the water and paste. "Anyhow, I'm just here to have a little chat over some nice _matcha_ tea.” The mixture doesn't thin much, though she still pours it into the cup. Then, she passes it and a cloth to Dave.

He takes it, turns it slightly, and takes a sip. Then, using the cloth, he wipes the rim. He passes it to you. "So, what's up? What sort of dank shit is happening in the spirit world?"

"Oh, the absolute _dankest_ shit is happening," Jade snickers. She turns around again, and begins rummaging through the drawers. From it, she pulls out some sweets. They appear to be croissants, though some jelly leaks from the ends. Powdered sugar dusts the tops of the pastries. "This isn't the usual sort of tea ceremony fare, but I think you'll like this better. Calliope taught me the recipe recently!"

"Oh, damn! How's Callie doing?" Dave folds his hands behind his head and leans back.

Karkat, meanwhile, takes a single sip of the tea. Upon tasting the bitter, chalky substance, he quietly spits it back into the cup. Then, following Dave's example, he wipes the rim. He sets the cup aside.

"She's doing great! You know the usual Guardian junk. She's just out there helping wandering souls." A smile punctuates Jade's comment. (In fact, Karkat is beginning to think that Jade never _stops_ smiling.)

Dave, meanwhile, nods in a sage manner, as if he's been told the secrets of the universe. "That's fuckin' awesome. And it seems you're doing pretty well, too."

"Hey, yeah, sorry to interrupt this sickeningly sweet reunion," interjects Karkat, "But what the actual FUCK is happening?"

"Oh!" Jade pauses. "Yes, Karkat, I came for you."

"Are you relieving me of the burden of this goddamned wretched lip-flapping moral-fucking bastard?"

Dave pouts facetiously.

Jade shrugs. "No, I'm not. And Dave is a nice young man, he's just a bit overbearing." When she sees Dave's faux offense grow, she giggles. "Look, Karkat, I'm going to tell it like it is: you're not increasing your odds of passing on with your current attitude. In fact, you're negating _any_ chances you might have!"

"Really?" Karkat's voice is filled with skepticism. He's never been a spiritual person, and he doesn't think he'll be turning into one any time soon. The mere fact that this woman is purportedly some sort of goddess raises his suspicions. "Then what, ex-fucking-actly, is my so-called goal? What sort of demoralizing bullshit am I supposed to be doing?"

Now, for the first time, Jade frowns. It's slight, and the expression is swiftly replaced by her usual smile. "I'm not permitted to tell you that, unfortunately. However, I _can_ say that Dave is the key to you achieving your goal."

"Well, isn't that just a pike up the ass?"

"Great imagery," Dave says, shooting a double thumbs up.

Karkat groans. He tangles his hands in his hair and bows his head. As far as he's concerned, he's stuck in this purgatory forever. Perhaps being consumed by some sort of unholy monster isn't the worst fate that could befall him...

Beside him, Dave is already ripping into one of the pastries. A satisfied sigh escapes him, and he pushes the plate in Karkat's direction. "Shove some of this in your loud, angry mouth. It's delicious, and it'll pull some of that stick out of your ass."

Jade laughs. The sound echoes in the unadorned space, and it seems as if it causes a breeze to whistle through the air. However, the breeze doesn't rustle the leafs on the ground or the grass surrounding them; only the bamboo cracks and creaks. "I see you haven't changed much, Dave. In fact, it seems you've given up on reaching the other side."

"Hell fuckin' yeah. You know it," Dave huffs. He takes another bite from his croissant, which is now half gone. "I'm done with that shit. If I haven't found it now, I ain't finding it any time soon."

"Not quite the best policy," Jade hums, "But it's not the worst outlook I've seen."

Through all of this, Karkat remains silent. He slowly works through the pastry, which he has to admit is delicious, and watches the unfolding events with mild interest. Now, he speaks. "So, what? You're some sort of goddamned angel?"

"Angel is such a specific word," shrugs Jade. "No, I'm a Guardian. There are different words for it according to language, but I'm more of a guide. I help people get to the end."

"And what the fuck do you get out of it?"

"Nothing! I just like doing it."

"She's, like, the opposite of me. I might as well be goddamned Satan," Dave pitches in.

Karkat groans. Once again, he falls silent. As far as he can tell, this conversation won't be going anywhere productive. In fact, it might just end up trailing into the land of completely useless and irrelevant information. And, as he looks on, it does just that.

"Now, Dave, one act doesn't make someone evil," Jade says. Her voice is soft and comforting, much like a mother's. Or, in Karkat's experience, like Kanaya's voice. "You've helped many people! You might even be a Guardian, too, one day!"

"God, no!" Dave scoffs. He leans over you, grabs the tea, and chugs the rest. "I'd rather go jump into Beelzebub's mouth. Kiss that soul goodbye, kids, because this one's fuckin' _out of here_!"

Jade laughs. Once again, the bamboo sways, but nothing else does. The phenomenon is curious, but not shocking. (In fact, nothing really shocks Karkat at this point.) "Well, if that's how you feel about it, I won't push you. It's been nice talking to you two, by the way."

"Aw," Dave groans. For the first time, a genuine frown appears on his face. His eyes widen. "You can't leave now! We only just got caught up! It's been, what? Ten years! That's a whole fuckin' decade, Jade!"

Though Jade continues to smile, it seems sadder, now. She sighs, and there's a hint of longing as she replies. "I'd love to stick around, but I have other duties to attend to. For now..." She turns one final time, and produces a marble from one of the drawers. The inside features a black and silver swirl, around which a lime green cord is wrapped. She stands, shuffles towards her guests, and gently takes Karkat's hand. In his outstretched palm, she places her gift. "Take this. If you ever need me, use it."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to do that!?" Karkat huffs.

Dave, in his usual unhelpful way, adds his own input. "Instructions unclear. Got my ghost dick caught in a ceiling fan."

Jade rolls her eyes, though she doesn't reply to the blond's commentary. Instead, she looks Karkat in the eyes. "You'll know how when the time is right. And don't try to lose this thing, because it'll always come back."

"God, it's like the fucking satanic opposite of a Tamagotchi."

"No, it's the fuckin' sickest pager in the world!"

"Shut _up_ , you blabbering puddle of putrid piss."

"Oh, now, that's hurtful. Right here, my man," Dave frowns and points to his heart, continuing, "You got me right there. In my blood pumper."

"DAMMIT, SHUT UP!"

Jade snickers. She gently presses against Karkat's fingers, causing them to curl into a fist. Then, she pats his hand. "It's been fun seeing the two of you. Karkat, I'd try to work on that temper. Dave, keep being cool."

"Ah." Dave sighs. "You too, Jade." He waves.

Jade does, too.

A strange sound, comparable to a mixture of howling wind and roaring surf, rips through the air. The image of Jade, standing on the other side of the small hearth at the center of the room, lingers in the air. Then, there's nothing. The tea house disappears, and Karkat finds himself sitting in the middle of an open field. A cow moos nearby, and the clear sky twinkles with stars. Again, the air is sticky, humid, and warm.

To Karkat's right, Dave once against sighs. He breathes in, then out. There's an oddly wistful air to him. After a few minutes, however, he returns to his usual self. He stands, motions for his companion to follow, and buries his hands in his pockets. He doesn't wait to begin walking. "Come on, dude, we should get back to your buddy's place. She might have some new information."

"God, I fucking hope so," Karkat grunts, "This place is more confusing than a rearranged Russian version of _Les Misérables_."

Dave snickers. "Well, ain't you a fuckin' nerd."

Working under the assumption that Dave is fishing for a comment, Karkat doesn't reply. He keeps his lips pressed together as he jogs to catch up to his unwanted but somewhat helpful afterlife guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are always welcome! thanks for reading, and i hope everyone enjoyed this jade appearance!


	7. Suil a Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Here's the link to the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5J1ZMUA6DIQ)!** I actually know this from _Lord of the Dance_ , but this is a solid version, too.

The city bustles and teems with life, as it always has. Vendors extend their hands, hawking their wares and imploring passerby to purchase their goods. They never make eye contact with Karkat, though he’s growing accustomed to this. That’s not to say that he’s grown _fond_ of it; in fact, he’s quite unhappy about it. He loathes the lack of contact, and he wants nothing more than to sit down and talk to someone who _isn_ _’t_ Dave Strider. Yet, he knows he can’t have this. While they’ve passed a few wandering spirits, few of them have bothered to talk to them. Most of them seemed dazed, and those who weren’t were busy with their own problems.

“Why, yes, ma’am, these are genuine gold coins,” a street vendor chortles.

The woman hums thoughtfully.

Dave smirks. As he passes by, he briefly studies the object in question. When he’s satisfied, he steps aside and continues walking. “That ain’t gold,” he says, waving his hand in the air, “If that’s gold, then I’ll shoot myself straight to hell.”

“Aren’t we already there?” Karkat grumbles.

As if he forgot that he was traveling with someone, Dave jumps. He turns to Karkat, furrows his brows, and buries his hands in his pockets. Despite the heat of the blistering noon sun, he doesn’t sweat. He has, however, opted to remove his coat. Rather than letting it fade into non-existence, he carries it over his shoulder. “I’m not. Maybe _you_ are, you grumpy asshole.”

Karkat says nothing. He folds his arms across his chest and continues walking, passing through the throngs of people without second thought. Mere days ago, he would have been uncomfortable doing this. Now, it feels second nature.

“Look, kid,” Dave begins.

Karkat vehemently interjects, “I’m not a kid. We’re probably the same goddamned age, you piss-drenched washcloth. Hey, let’s take that comparison even fucking further! You’re more than drenched, you’re just sopped all the way through with putrid, steaming piss. It drips from you like venom from a snake fang, and it’s as potent as you’d expect.”

“You’re a kid to me, kid. You know jack shit ‘bout this place, and you probably ain’t fuckin’ fit to be wandering around it like some fuckin’ know-it-all preacher, hurling insults from the goddamned bleachers.” Dave doesn’t turn to face Karkat. In fact, he seems to pick up the pace as he says this. “You want any sort of redemption? I’ll need a goddamned warmer reception.”

“Quit rhyming, dammit!” Karkat snaps.

“You can’t handle my sick beats, then?” The sound Dave makes is obviously supposed to be laughter, though it amounts to little more than a series of hoarse wheezes.

“You’re fucking nuts. I’m not saying that as an insult, I’m stating a fact so fucking obvious it’s inscribed in the heavens. If you look up at the sky, you’ll see it in the stars: ‘Dave Strider is a fucking lunatic.’”

“Maybe I am,” Dave snickers. By now, he’s slowed down. Karkat is passing him at this point, though he offers the man a rough pat on the back as he says these words. “And I’ve got reasons to be.”

“Yeah, not interested,” Karkat grunts. He lowers his head, willing himself to disappear. Alas, it doesn’t happen. Instead, he remains as a liminal entity, caught between two worlds yet still wholly real. As if to prove this to himself, he rolls his shoulders. They let forth a satisfying pop, and he begins walking faster. If there’s one benefit to this form, it’s that he doesn’t tire; he could sprint all the way to Kanaya’s if he wanted to, but he feels the need to take the scenic route.

After all, he’s dead. He’ll never experience what he’d been looking forward too—his first drink, his marriage, all of that is gone, now. He might as well enjoy what he can. And, with Dave’s mouth finally shut, he can enjoy it in silence.

He takes in the sights, and he considers how much he’s missed during his studies. He’s holed himself into an ivory tower, never once considering the beauty of the world outside. There’s a charming vibrancy to the city. Had he remained alive, he’s sure he never would have taken a moment to notice all this. Now, though, he has all the time in the world to appreciate it, though being dead is still a massive thorn in his side. And, an even bigger thorn is the bombastic blond trailing his every step.

“So, what? Did my awesome rhymes knock the words right out of your mouth?” Dave asks.

Karkat rolls his eyes. A low growl escapes him. “Oh, they knocked _something_ out of my mouth, and that would be a pile of vomit.”

A huff dejected huff serves as Dave’s reply.

* * *

He stands before Rose Lalonde as any stereotypical ghost would. He looks as he did when he was alive, and he seems to retain what he had worn prior to his death. However, he is more vivid and solid. There’s a washed out color to him, and he’s not quite as see-through as films would lead one to believe. Nonetheless, he’s clearly not of this world or plane. The biggest indicator of this is the thin, shimmering silver outline. The second indicator is his voice, which, despite the well-furnished room, carries a natural echoing quality.

“Have either of you figured anything out yet?” Karkat idles awkwardly in front of the door. His shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and he wrings his hands together.

“We have, yes,” Rose begins.

Kanaya smiles. It’s a kind, welcoming expression, and Rose can sense the bittersweet feeling behind it. “He’s here, then?”

“Indeed,” Rose nods.

“Perfect! It feels silly speaking to the air like this, but it can’t be helped.” Perhaps to distract herself from the reality of the situation, Kanaya turns and busies herself with clearing dinner from the dining table. “It seems that, in order to truly pass to the other side, you must come to terms with something in your life,” she says.

“It appears to be something of great significance, such as a lifetime goal you never completed,” Rose volunteers.

Karkat rubs his chin. Whereas, when he was alive, it would be covered in scraggly stubble by now, it’s still smoothly shaved. This isn’t surprising; he had likely shaved for graduation before making his ill-fated drive back to campus. When he speaks, however, his voice is as crisp and curt as always. “Yeah, that annoying piece of blond shit told me that.” He hesitates, frowns, and rubs the back of his neck. “Not you, Rose.”

“I assume you’re speaking of your travel companion?”

“Yeah, is he still here?” Kanaya stops tidying to look up, though her gaze sweeps the room aimlessly before she ultimately resumes her work.

“Fuck, no!” Karkat thunders. He tangles his hands in his hair and snarls, briefly baring his slightly crooked teeth in the process. “God, that bastard’s still outside. Fuck him, the annoying talking sack of has-shit-all-to-say.”

“Well, it’s unfortunate you feel that way,” tuts Rose, “Because Kanaya and I combed through your life with a fine-toothed-comb, and we’ve drawn a rather decisive conclusion on what has tethered you to reality.”

“Yeah?” Karkat sneers. He opens his mouth, as if to say more, before slowly closing it. His lips press together, his brows, furrow, and realization appears to hit him in slow motion.

Regardless, for clarity’s sake, Rose continues, “What we believe you lacked in life was your ultimate goal of finding love.”

“You always rambled pointlessly about how much you wanted to be swept off your feet. Life isn’t some sort of romance movie, Karkat. I’m sorry to break it to you, though I’ve tried to do so multiple times in the past.” A poignant stare from Kanaya punctuates her commentary.

Meanwhile, Karkat simply stares forward. For several minutes, he remains silent. His gaze wanders and his hands fidget with the insides of his pockets. Eventually, he offers a resigned nod. “Yeah. That actually makes a lot of sense. Of course you two would figure it out so fast.” Though it’s obvious to Rose that he isn’t happy about this revelation, he still smiles. “I’ll come back and visit you if things aren’t going so well, and, if the blond douchebag outside has anything to say about it, I’d say we’ll see each other a few more times.”

“That’s understandable,” Rose says

“Tell Kanaya I said goodbye.”

“Karkat sends his fondest farewells.”

“That’s _not_ what I fucking said.” His words are firm, though his voice betrays his poorly stifled laughter.

This brief moment of relaxation comforts Rose, though she knows that Karkat is in for a rough ride.

Kanaya does, too, but she remains as stoic as ever. “I’ll see you around, Karkat.”

“I fucking guess.” The spirit shrugs, waves, and turns sharply. Then, without another word, he departs.

* * *

The city is asleep. The only light comes from the streetlights, the only sounds from rare passing cars and wildlife. The humid air is like Elmer’s glue; it clings to Karkat’s skin. Of course, this placid atmosphere is being disturbed by the constant blabbering of Dave Strider.

The enigmatic blond rambles endlessly, saying nothing and proving little. He’s been doing this for the past three hours. From his lips come stories of no interest and comments of no importance. And, now, he begins to say something else. “Now, you see, I’ve been thinking about what Jade said a while back. Maybe I _would_ make a good Guardian, but I doubt I would. I mean… I’m just not that sort of guy, y’know?”

A low growl escapes Karkat.

Unaware—or, perhaps, undeterred—Dave continues, “Y’know, I’ve heard from some pseudo-intellectual fuck that history’s made by three people. There are the people who live, the dumbasses who die, and the lucky few who tell their story. I’m very firmly that second category, and you sure as hell are, too. So…”

Something snaps, and Karkat can practically hear it—a loud, unexpected sound. The violent crack, which isn’t truly there, echoes in his head. He whips around, grabs Dave by the shoulders, and meets his eyes with a wild, wide-eyed glare. “I. Do not. Care!” he thunders. He releases his grip, though it’s only so that he can gesticulate as he speaks. “I honestly could not care less about your sad, stupid, and undoubtedly pointless existence. I’ve been gorging on your bullshit, and I’m certain beyond a doubt that I could expel mile upon mile of fucking fecal matter. You’re like a neglected child, but less understandable and a whole lot less bearable.”

Dave opens his mouth to speak.

Karkat silences him. “No! NO! You shut the fuck up right now! I’ve made my decision, dammit. I don’t need you. I don’t _want_ you. If anything, you’re just dragging me down to hell with you. This situation is already indescribably stupid, and I don’t need anything else to give me whiplash.” He folds his arms across his chest, then falls silent. He halfway expects Dave to fight back.

Yet, instead, the blond buries his hands in his pockets. When he responds, his voice is soft and subdued. His head is bowed, and his brows are furrowed. The reflection of the moon in his eyes ripples and shimmers. “O-okay. Yeah… Yeah that’s… Okay… It’s…” He laughs, but there’s no joy. It’s a hollow, mirthless sound, and that morose rumble seems to hang in the air. “I’m… I totally get it. Yeah. That’s… Cool. Cool. That’s cool.” He swallows, and it’s loud. “I… Yeah… I ain’t the best guy to help out people, y’know.” A half smile crosses his features, but this, like the laugh, lacks any meaning.

Throughout the ordeal, Karkat’s stomach churns. A tiny voice in the back of his head chides him. He kicks himself and, despite all of Dave’s effort, he’s easy to read.

When he sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve, the window to his soul goes from murky to clear. As pale hands tangle themselves in sea of pale blond, it’s as if his breakdown is on full display. “I’m real sorry for all this, dude. Really. I… It wasn’t what I wanted. I…”

“Dave,” Karkat begins, cursing his conscience.

“No, really, you don’t need to say more.” Dave turns. His shoulders slouch.

It feels as if a steel-toed boot is slamming into Karkat’s stomach.

“I ain’t who you think I am, anyhow. I mean… I’m annoying, yeah. That’s my specialty. I’m… I… It’s just my natural state. Hey, y’all, come point and stare at this socially clueless fuck, right?” Another humorless chuckle. Another sniffle. And, now, Karkat notices something. A shadow is appearing at his feet, and it stems from Dave. Though the moonlight is canceled by the artificial glow of the streetlights, it seems as if this shadow is cast by that.

“Dave!” Karkat tries again. At the same time, he tries to remember if he’s ever had a shadow. If _Dave_ has ever had a shadow.

Calloused fingers curl into tight fists. A pair of shades slide down, revealing eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve just assumed for all this time that I was helping people, right? I’ve been hustling those people like death’s pimp, making sure they just fuckin’ died. Or… Whatever happens when it’s all over. And…”

“IS THERE SUPPOSED TO BE A SHADOW?” Karkat thunders.

Dave freezes. He looks down and, when he does, the shadow seems to become solid. Bright red eyes open on its face. But, before it can go any further, Dave stumbles back. “SHIT!” he exclaims. “SHIT!” When he pulls away, the beast disappears. When he stills, his chest heaves. “Jesus… Jesus fucking Christ.” He looks to Karkat, to the ground, and back. “No. Fuck. I can’t do this any more. I’ve got to get out.” He shakes his head, as if to clear his mind, but it seems ineffective. Looking to nothing in particular, he shakes his fist. “No! Fuck you! You’re wrong! You’re wronger than those flat Earth fuckers! L-leave me the fuck alone!”

Karkat moves forward, intending to help.

Before he can do anything, Dave bolts.

And, in a state of pure shock, Karkat remains frozen in place. He watches the figure—the form of the only person he knows in this lonely, unfeeling realm—recede into the distance. It grows smaller. Smaller. Smaller. Then, against the darkness of night and amid the walls of the unyileding city buildings, he disappears.


	8. Eleanor Rigby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [**link to the song**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuS5NuXRb5Y), which is by The Beatles.

_How far could he have fucking gone? This godawful city isn_ _’t that big, it’s just densely populated…_

Karkat stumbles down the sidewalk. Looking around, he finds that he’s unfamiliar with his surroundings. Yet, inexplicably, he knows where he is. This is familiar, but he’s never been here. At least, he doesn’t _think_ he’s ever been here. “DAVE!” he calls, his voice carrying through the air and echoing off grimy walls of glass. “DAVE!”

No answer comes.

“DAVE!” He turns down an alleyway. Though he wanders its length for a few minutes, it ultimately ends in a dead end. He’s still not comfortable walking through walls, as he’s unsure of what he’ll find, so he turns back. “DAVE!”

_You_ _’re a failure. For all the talk people always had about you, you’re a fucking nobody. You’re a callous asshole. You destroy every relationship you know in an attempt to isolate yourself. You can’t achieve anything by yourself, and you never will, now._

Karkat fights back against his thoughts. “DAVE!”

“You won’t find him,” a voice says. It’s a lot like Karkat’s, but it’s colder. There’s something inhuman about it, but he can’t quite place it. When he looks for its source, he finds it coming from an indistinct shadow at his feet. Like Dave’s, it seems to be cast by the sun; there is only one, and it shifts as he moves.

Figuring that he’s hallucinating, Karkat rubs his eyes. He shakes his head.

Yet, the voice speaks again. “You think he’d even care about you after what you did?”

“I…” There’s a beat of silence, and the speaker slowly realizes that he’s speaking to a shadow. Yet, the words it’s said are poignant. “I don’t know…”

“He won’t,” the shadow says, calmly. Its even tone is reminiscent of a now-missing blond. “You’ve pushed him away, and there’s nothing that you can do about it. He’s probably gone, now, anyhow. His _p_ _úca_ probably overpowered him.”

“His… what?”

The shadow’s form becomes more distinct. The voice grows louder. “What do you think I am?”

“A… whatever the fuck you just said. Some sort of fucking awful video game character? Fuck if I know.”

“You’re foolish and weak.”

The shadow becomes clearer. A weight begins to push against Karkat’s shoulders, forcing him downward. “Yeah. I fucking am.”

“Who would remember someone like you? Who would _care_ about someone like you?”

The shadow becomes clearer. Karkat can’t tell if it is growing larger, or if he’s sinking closer to the ground. “Nobody…” he murmurs. Looking down, he can see the darkness of the shadow lapping at his hands like water. He’s on his knees on the sidewalk. His shoulder leans against the nearby brick wall. When he looks down, he sees a pair of red eyes staring back at him. The world begins to blur…

* * *

Rose Lalonde sits at her desk. Her feet are propped against its surface, and a wad of printer paper is held in her hand. She studies the pages and absentmindedly clicks a pink glitter pen in her right hand. Editing isn’t her favorite thing to do, but it’s a necessary part of her job. Beyond that, Kanaya isn’t the best editor, and self-publishing doesn’t leave her much of a budget to hire professional editors.

“Don’t you have a job?” A voice startles Rose.

She jumps, grabs a letter opener, and spins around. When she’s turned, she finds herself staring at a familiar blond specter. Lowering the letter opener, she furrows her brow. “What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Karkat!?”

“I am.” Dave shrugs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls forth a cigarette, which he lights and places between his lips. As semi-transparent, silver smoke begins to rise from its tip, he bows his head. “He didn’t want my help.”

“He says a lot of things he doesn’t truly mean, as I’m sure you’d understand,” Rose counters.

Dave pauses, as if to consider the statement, before offering another indifferent shrug. He folds his arms across his chest. At the same time, an old-fashioned jacket appears on him. “If he don’t want help, he don’t want help. I ain’t bugging him about it.” To punctuate this, he plucks his cigarette from his mouth. He flicks some of the ash free, though the flickering silver sparks disappear mid-drop. By now, his head has turned so that he faces away from Rose. “I don’t have any stock in that bastard.”

“Really?” Rose asks, offering her most quizzical look. “Then why, exactly, have you returned to this particular abode?”

Again, there’s a pause. With the cigarette dangling between his left hand’s index and middle fingers, Dave chews his lip. He averts his gaze.

“You must have a reason. Why else would you be here?”

“Why does it matter to you, huh?” Dave sneers. He puts the cigarette back in his mouth and steps forward, as if to menace Rose. Then, he stops, as if he realizes that he can’t do anything to her. His tense shoulders abruptly relax. “Look, you don’t know shit about me. No one knows shit about me, and I’m keeping it that way. I don’t know why I came back, but I’m starting to feel like it was a fuckin’ mistake. Hell, Napoleon made less of a mistake raiding Russia in the winter with an under-equipped party.”

Though she tries not to, Rose has to snicker at the commentary. “Napoleon wasn’t playing Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Well, maybe not!” Dave shakes his head. Even though the cigarette is only halfway finished, he discards it. He crushes it against the ground and, when he lifts his foot, it’s gone. “Look, if that stubborn nail in the floor wants to keep on sticking on the rotting board he’s in, it’s not my job to stop him!”

“True, it’s not.” Folding her hands behind her back, Rose steps forward. She cocks her head to the side and accompanies her statement with a thin, wry smile. “Or, perhaps, rescuing him will release your soul.”

“It won’t,” Dave laughs, though there’s no joy.

Rose doesn’t ignore this fact; she takes note of it. “You don’t know. However, it is not my duty to dissuade you from this course of action. Karkat is everything you’ve said. He is stubborn and prideful, yet that pride is a thin veil. He’s likely sulking somewhere. Who knows what sort of horrors have befallen him? My research has yet to yield much information on the terrible fates of lost souls, but I can tell you that he won’t last long without guidance. He’s a relationship-driven individual.”

“You’re trying to guilt me into going back,” growls Dave.

“Maybe. Whatever your choice is, Karkat’s fate is in your hands.” At this point, Rose finally manages to meet Dave’s gaze. At least, she feels like she does; she’ll never know, as she can’t see through his shades. She doesn’t need to, though, because she’s gotten her way.

Dave’s response makes this painfully apparent. He lets forth a loud, irritable snarl and turns on his heel. He walks forward, moving with purpose and speed, until he disappears through the front door.

And, proud of her most recent success, Rose chuckles to herself. Then, she returns to editing her most recent novel.

* * *

Karkat Vantas wakes to find himself sprawled out in a dark alleyway. It is night, and a peculiar man in a purple cape stands before him. He holds an almost absurdly large rifle, and a scowl is spread across his pale face. A thin harpoon spike sticks out of the ground, though it’s beginning to fade from existence.

“Oh, you’re awake.” When he speaks, it’s apparent that this man has a strange accent. “Name’s Eridan Ampora, and I saved your sorry ass a few hours ago.”

“Awesome,” Karkat growls. He sits up, rubs the back of his neck, and growls at his head’s dull throbbing. “Now, you can fuck right off.”

“Fucking rude, newbie.” The man runs his fingers through the purple streak in his black hair. Strange, burgundy eyes dart back and forth, but never meet the gaze of his conversational partner. “Look, you had one hell of a nasty _p_ _úca_ , and I got rid of it for you.” As if it will somehow prove his point, he gestures to the spike jutting from the ground.

Karkat remain unmoved. “That’s great. Now, fuck off! I’m fine alone!” He stumbles to his feet, brushes himself off, and begins leaving the alley. On his way out, however, he’s consistently blocked off by Eridan. While the man isn’t necessarily intimidating, he’s large. He’s tall, and there’s obviously some muscle hidden beneath his cape. This is someone Karkat doesn’t want to piss off; yet, it is becoming increasingly impossible not to. “Move, you fuck-mongering shit!”

“Tell me, jackass, what’s your name.”

“First name: None. Middle name: Ovya. Last name: Business. Now, let me _go_.”

“Tell me,” Eridan demands, suddenly lowering the gun to point at Karkat.

Two hands raise into the air, accompanied by a nervous sigh. “Look, you lofty fecal stain, I don’t have to tell you shit.” Despite saying this, Karkat realizes that he doesn’t know what would happen if he was to die in this realm. He doesn’t even know if he _can_ die in this realm. Considering his most recent blunder, he doesn’t want to find out any time soon. “But, if you’re so fucking impertinent, it’s Karkat Vantas.”

“What a fucking weird name.”

“Says Eridan.”

A pause. Lowering his gun, Eridan nods. “Touché.”

“Why do you need to know?”

Another pause. Eridan sets aside his gun and approaches Karkat. His steel-toed boots clack against the ground with almost unnatural noise, and his ridiculous cape trails behind him without billowing in the fairly strong wind. The tip of his gun scrapes against the ground, yet it seems to remain undamaged. “No reason.”

“I fucking doubt that.”

“I can help you,” Eridan says, offering an unnerving smile, which reveals a set of pointed teeth. “I work for a certain… authority. A revered guardian, you see. Caliborn, Lord of Time. You might have heard of him?”

“Nope,” Karkat responds bluntly.

This prompts a stunned silence from Eridan. After a few minutes, he manages to recover. “Well, I can help you.”

“Not interested.” As he turns his back to the man, Karkat offers a nonchalant wave. “I’ve already had one jackass fuck me over in this purgatory, I’m not reliving it.” He begins to walk away, only to freeze upon hearing a click. A glance over his shoulder reveals that Eridan has once again trained his gun’s sights on him; a steady finger rests on the trigger.

Something in Karkat tells him to run. As irrational as it seems, there’s a part of him that believes that he can get away. This man clearly believes he won’t be trying to leave; so, if he does, there will be that split second of confusion. Maybe…

A deep breath in.

Karkat sprints. He hears a bang, and a spear appears in front of him, burying itself in a brick wall and missing him by mere inches.

He keeps running. He turns corner after corner, keeping little track of where he’s going. For now, survival is his goal.

On he pushes, going for what feels like hours before finally deciding that there’s enough distance between him and the crazed stranger. He stops and breathes in, taking in the smell of a freshly extinguished wood grill. By the dim light of a barely visible moon, he can see an old house—the oldest house in the city—but, now, it seems different. Now, it shimmers with a silver glow. The door is open, and it’s reminiscent of Jade’s tea house. It’s inviting, and something draws him in. Perhaps, it’s that delectable scent. Maybe it’s something else. Whatever the reason is, Karkat continues forward without a second thought.


	9. Song from M*A*S*H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for violence,** but it's not described. I finally remembered this fic, and I'm going to try and finish it. I have an extremely rough plot in place, and a feeling that this won't be as long as I planned, but we'll see. I have some ambitious ideas for this, and that's never good news. :/ Anyhow, I didn't include the _actual_ title of the song for this chapter, and I'm linking it with the prelude that **the song referenced in this chapter involves suicide,** proceed with caution. **[Here's the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gO7uemm6Yo)**. As usual, comments and feedback are welcome, as are any corrections to my poorly beta-ed writing.

The inside of the home is less inviting than the outside. The world is cast in a familiar, silvery haze. It’s run down, filthy, and smells of mold and cigar smoke. Trash litters the floors, and wind whistles ominously through holes in the poorly maintained walls. From the inside, Karkat can see that the windows are cracked. The formerly clear glass is now coated with a thick layer of built up grime. The welcoming lights are gone, and the inside is as dark as the nighttime outside.

Here, Karkat can see a man. He is about as tall as Dave, perhaps even taller, and he has a similar build. Though he bears many similarities to him, this man is different. His face is gaunter, the skin pulled tight by age. His brows are furrowed and, when he speaks, his words are slurred. “Yeah, what’re you going to do, huh?” he, too, has a thick southern accent. “You little bastard, you aren’t worth shit to me.”

From the shadows, emerging from a room to the east, comes Dave Strider. A shotgun is held in his hands, and there’s an unnerving lack of feeling in his eyes. They’re glassy, like a dead man’s, yet his jaw is set and his muscles tense. He says nothing.

The stranger, meanwhile, laughs. “Oh, I see. So, you’re going to shoot me? You’re going to shoot your old man?”

Closer inspection reveals that Dave is bleeding. The red substance stains the sleeves of his starched white button-up shirt. His right eye is blackened, and he walks with a limp, which favors the right side. Nevertheless, he pushes on. He keeps walking forward.

“Go for it, you ungrateful son of a bitch! I don’t give a damn!” The other man shrugs. With a surprising amount of disinterest, he buries his hands in his pockets. He turns his back to Dave and straightens his back. Thus, he stands with a tremendous amount of pride. There’s a certainty in his stance, and it’s clear the he believes he’s safe.

Karkat, however, can feel that he’s not. The foreboding in the atmosphere is palpable.

And, as if to confirm this, Dave raises the weapon. He presses the barrel to the back of the man’s head. “You’re no father of mine,” he snarls. His finger presses against the trigger. Then, he pulls. There’s a loud bang.

Karkat shields his eyes and stumbles back. When he finally manages to gather enough wits to chance another glance at reality, he finds that the world has returned to normal. The cabin is now stocked with modern gadgets, and the nearby dining room table is set for dinner. Voices chat happily nearby, blissfully unaware of what had happened in the house they occupy. Wanting nothing more to do with this place, Karkat turns and sprints from the building.

* * *

“Dave Strider, died at some point in the 1940’s,” Kanaya’s voice carries well across a room, even when she’s whispering. It catches Rose’s attention and holds it with steadfast diligence. “A minor celebrity, it seems, and not the good sort.”

At this point, Rose pauses. She sets aside her books, which are primarily comprised of moldy, musty tomes, and wanders to Kanaya’s side. “What, exactly, is unsavory about this particular character?”

“Well, he has quite the criminal history, for one.” Kanaya hums thoughtfully. Long, slender fingers tap at the faded keys of a public library computer. “Petty theft, assault, disrupting the peace,” she reads out each infraction with the pointed care and distinct pronunciation that she always has. Now, however, it’s tinged with a certain sort of uncertainty. “Murder.”

Rose laughs nervously. “Surely,” she huffs, “He didn’t commit _murder_.”

“David Strider, aged twenty years, was posthumously found guilty of the callous murder of _his own father_.” As Kanaya reads this, her voice indicates that she, too, is somewhat wary of the accusation. Her expression is similarly discerning—her brows are furrowed, her jaw is set, and her eyes skim back and forth across the page, as if she’s seeking answers.

Alas, from where she stands, Rose can see that the short newspaper snippet on the screen won’t be providing any further information. It’s little more than a blurb in a newspaper column. A vague snippet of the past won’t hold the answers they’re looking for. It will, however, raise more questions.

And Kanaya, her voice brimming with concern, is the first to ask one, “We’re letting Karkat navigate the afterlife with a fucking _homicidal maniac_!” she declares.

Rose quickly shushes her girlfriend. “Perhaps not. I wouldn’t be so quick to rush to conclusions, dear. Mistakes were made then as often as they are now, and I’m sure this is little more than a cumbrous misunderstanding.”

“I suppose,” admits Kanaya. “That does not negate the suspicions I have.”

“Of course not,” comes the concession. Rose straightens her back and runs her fingers through her hair. “Well, for now, we’ll keep this information on hand.”

“Yes,” responds a frazzled Kanaya, “That sounds acceptable…”

* * *

Despite the fact that it’s May, the nighttime wind is cold and unyielding. Goosebumps raise on Dave’s exposed forearms, and his breath rises as wispy, silvery clouds of condensation. His brows are furrowed and, against the inky darkness, he can see the outline of his old house. By now, the lights are out. The door is tightly locked, though this doesn’t both him. He drifts inside, passing effortlessly through the shut door, and looks around. It’s a far cry from the dilapidated shack he’d once lived in. Now, the walls are clad in muted green wallpaper. Family photos adorn the surface, and fresh flowers rest in a vase on the dining room table.

“You’re looking for him, right?” A voice, marked by a pronounced but inexplicable accent, interrupts Dave’s thoughts. When he looks up, he finds the source—a rather short man wearing a ridiculous purple cape.

Naturally, Dave feels the need to comment. He snickers. “How would you know, nerd? What, did you die on the way to the comic convention?” At this point, he lets a pleased chuckle slip past his filter. His hands bury themselves in his pockets, while his fingers begin to absentmindedly pluck at tufts of lint. “What’s with the shitty getup, dweeb?”

“I’ll have you know that this is a finely tailored outfit, which was made for me by my master,” grumbles the stranger. Twig-like fingers rake through over-gelled hair. When he smiles, it’s obvious that his teeth are unnaturally pointed. From experience, Dave knows that this man is no good; the more one involves themselves with the affairs of demons, the less human they appear. “No, I know what you’re after. You’re after that other bastard, right? Well, he won’t be coming back any time soon.”

Despite the aura of danger, which radiates from this peculiar man like light from the sun, Dave can’t help but laugh. He folds his arms across his chest and offers the smuggest smirk he can muster. “Yeah, and what makes you say that?”

“What makes me say that, you thin-skulled fool, is your history.”

The smile disappears. A shiver runs down Dave’s spine, and his arms fall limply to his sides. Then, he reacts. His shoulders tense, his fingers curl into fists, and his jaw locks in place. Through gritted teeth, he demands, “What about it?”

“Oh!” The man shrugs. He hums absentmindedly to himself for a few minutes, toying with his prey before finally responding, “He knows all about it. So much for noble hero, eh?” Dull thuds sound as he walks across the floor, closing the distance between himself and the stunned blond. When there’s little more than a half a foot between them, he stops. Burgundy eyes peer out of the darkness, and sharp white teeth glint in the dim light of night. “Well, my job here is done. I’ll leave you to your devices, huh?” A curt, insincere wave punctuates the statement. Before turning, the man shoulders his huge rifle. Then, in silence, he departs.

And, in his shock, Dave makes no movement to stop him. He merely watches the man depart, sliding through the back wall and into the field behind. Though, for several minutes, Dave can see him through the window, he quickly fades from view; his slight frame is swallowed by tall, swaying grasses.

And, so, he finds himself alone. Without anyone to lead, Dave Strider stumbles along. He slumps against the nearest wall, tangles his hair in his fingers, and counts his losses. First and foremost, his secret is out. Before now, few knew how he came to be. No one knew what brought him to the Space Between, and that was how he’d wanted it to stay. Now, though… Now, there’s someone out there, with this information, who’s going to be very, _very_ pissed about the situation.

Now, there’s nothing he can do.

Now, he feels the weight of time pressing against him. The years he’s spent weigh down on his chest, and he gasps for breath. The edges of his vision blur, yet he can still see a looming shadow, which is beginning to form behind him. Whereas he’d normally fight it, he finds himself unwilling to do so. Instead, he accepts it. He closes his eyes, drops against the wall, and does something he hasn’t done for a long, long time.

For the first time in what might just be decades, Dave Strider falls asleep.


	10. No Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song is from _Brother Bear_ , that Disney movie no one talks about ever. [**Here's the link.**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDOsBVcvOl0) Content warning in this chapter for vague allusions to suicide and some mild violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not dead, just busy. I hope you enjoy this newest addition... Sorry it's short... Anyhow, yay, I remember I way writing this fic. As usual, I'm bad at beta reading.

Karkat Vantas stands in the middle of an empty street. His arms are folded across his chest, his head is bowed, and his brows are furrowed. His lips are pressed together, forming a thin line of anxiety.

“You know,” says Eridan, from where he stands on the nearby sidewalk, “If you’re really looking for a good guide, I could do it.”

”Hm?” Karkat is wary. He’s already been betrayed. Dave was a bust, and who knows what this odd character has in store for him. Then again, he’s also out of options. Rose and Kanaya don’t seem to know any more than he does, and he certainly doesn’t know any other wandering souls. So, reluctantly, he listens.

”All I require is a toll.” Eridan clasps his hands behind his chest. He smiles. “You should have something in your pocket. A token, perhaps?”

Though his gut tells him otherwise, Karkat reaches into his pocket. He wraps his fingers around a tiny crap-shaped keychain. When he touches it, an inexplicable energy seems to buzz against the tips of his fingers. He hears his heartbeat; it's loud and clear. When he was five, his father gave the trinket to him as a good luck charm. And, despite his naturally skeptical nature, he’s kept it in his pocket ever since.

”It’s to keep you safe,” Eridan reassures, having received no reply. “See, that’s a key to getting out of here. If you give it to me, I’ll make sure it doesn’t get lost or damaged.”

Karkat’s eyes narrow. His jaw sets. “Maybe later,” he announces.

To his surprise, Eridan nods. “That’s fair. I’ll allow you to keep it until you feel comfortable relinquishing it.” He approaches, then throws his arm over Karkat’s shoulders, continuing, “Stick with me, and you’ll be out of this place in no time.”

Though he feels a cold chill running down his spine, Karkat doesn’t protest. Instead, he allows the man to lead him away.

* * *

“What are you doing, kid?” A man stands in front of a window. His figure is outlined by a corona of light, and his features are cloaked in shadow. “Get up,” he demands.

Dave Strider hesitates.

The man leans over, grabs him by the collar of his shirt, and drags him to his feet. “GET UP.” The voice seems to echo in space and, oddly enough, across time. A flash of light, and the world shifts.

Dave Strider finds himself in a trench. His boots are filled with wet mud, the stench of death permeates the air, and a gun is held in his white-knuckled grasp. A loud bang deafens him; the ringing in his ears overpowers his senses. He drops the gun, covers his ears, and looks to the right. In that same instant, a bullet rips through the air. Time seems to slow as it hits the man to Dave’s left, known only as WV by the entire platoon. The man falls to the ground and, as sound slowly begins to return to the world, the words from before echo in Dave’s mind.

“GET UP!”

Time freezes. The world blurs.

Now, Dave stands beneath a tree. Dried blood stains his hands and soaks through the fabric of his shirt. He holds a rope, and his eyes dart between it and the body of his father.

”GET UP!”

A strange man—his raven hair wild and disheveled, with green eyes as mysterious as the most remote jungle—stands beneath a tree. With a rusty switchblade, he cuts through a length of rope, which tethers a desiccated corpse to a sturdy branch.

”GET UP!”

Again, the man is outlined against the window. Dave’s chest heaves. He squeezes his eyes shut, and...

”Dave?” A soft voice, with a familiar cadence, jars Dave from his nightmare.

Startled, he bolts upright. “Jade?”

The woman smiles. She nods. “It seems to me that you’re having a bit of an issue with this particular charge.”

”He’s not mine any more,” shrugs Dave. Though he maintains a nonchalant attitude, a pointed disappointment weighs against his chest. Guilt forces him to turn his back to Jade. “He left. He knows what I did. Karkat’s long gone, he’s fucked right the fuck off to who-knows-where, and I’m sure he ain’t coming back any time soon.”

”Karkat understands the importance of forgiveness,” Jade reassures.

”I’m a goddamned murderer,” Dave snaps, “He’s got about as much reason to forgive me as a fuckin’ mouse has to forgive the fat snake that ate it.”

”Perhaps,” Jade frowns. She folds her arms across her chest. “Or...”

”Or what?”

”I have word from Calliope that Karkat has been seen wandering with Eridan.” Though the words are spoken with an even tone, their weight is palpable. As Jade continues, her usual smile fades, “You understand what that means, don’t you?”

”Fuck,” enunciates Dave. “FUCK! FUCK!” he repeats, chanting the curse like a mantra. “I’ve done it again, huh? I’ve jumped the motherfucking gun like the world’s springiness mistake. Jack jumped over a flaming funerary pyre.”

”You still have plenty of time, Dave,” Jade interjects.

Dave pauses. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. There’s plenty of fuckin’ time, right?”

”Yes. The only problem you’ll have is finding him, but we both know where he’s heading.”

”Of course I do,” Dave huffs. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, sticks it in his mouth, and lights it. As the end begins to glow a smoldering red, he continues, “I’ve got this. I can handle this. Watch me.” At this point, he turns to face Jade, only to find himself looking at an unremarkable brick wall.

* * *

Kanaya Maryam finds herself unusually perturbed. Her mind races, and her head seems to be trying to claw its way out of her chest. She sits up, suddenly, and gasps.

By her side, Rose groans. She rolls over, sleepily wraps her arms about her girlfriend’s waist, and yawns. “What’cha waking up for, Kannie?”

The pet name calms Kanaya, though it does little to ease the anxiety bubbling up within her. She can’t pinpoint the source of her fear, nor can she say that such sudden outbursts are normal for her, but she finds herself overcome with the knowledge that something is wrong.

”Kanaya?” Rose repeats herself. Now, she is awake. She, too, sits up. “What’s wrong?”

For some reason beyond Kanaya’s understanding, when she opens her mouth, a response naturally spills forth. “Karkat.”

”Karkat?” Rose parrots. “What about Karkat?”

”I don’t know,” Kanaya shakes her head. Though she gripes about in her mind for any inkling of information, she finds none. All that she knows is that something is wrong, and she has a keen sense that she and Rose are mostly powerless to fix it. “I... don’t know.”

”Well, then, let’s go back to sleep for now.” Again, Rose yawns, she gently rubs Kanaya’s back, applying gentle pressure.

Slowly, Kanaya’s muscles relax. Though there is still a sense of foreboding, she feels as if she can safely lay down her head. She wraps her arms around Rose and, after some time, she falls into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you like my fics, be sure to check out [**my art blog**](https://tt40art.tumblr.com), where I post my art and try to make money.


	11. A King's Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to do instrumental soundtrack pieces for titles in this fic, but I guess I lied. [**Here's the link**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uip95CIVOEU), and this one's from the _Black Panther_ score. It's also a great movie, so you should go see it if you haven't. If you _have_ seen it, go see it again, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay there's no real update schedule, since i'm kinda busy right now, but here's a new chapter. just keep an eye out for updates. who knows how regular they'll be? not me. i do have this plotted through to the end, though, which will be in about four chapters.

“Have you seen a man, maybe this high, wandering around with some douchebag in a cape?” Though he’s aware that his efforts are going nowhere, Dave persists. He stares at the stranger before him, and a trace of a hopeful smile plays at the edges of his lips. “Hm?”

The woman, highlighted by the slightest hint of ethereal silver, shakes her head. She folds her arms, resting them atop the cafe table before her, and sighs. “Sorry, kid, I can’t say I have.”

“I figured,” Dave shrugs. He offers a brief wave, then turns on his heel.

“I hope you find whoever you’re looking for, kid,” the woman calls out.

Dave nods. “Me too,” he mutters. A long sigh escapes him as he buries his hands in his pockets. As he steps outside, he looks up, to the overcast sky above. He closes his eyes. Though it’s raining, he doesn’t feel the drops hitting his skin. Instead, the rain passes through him, as it has for over fifty years. He scuffs the toe of his boot against the ground, yet it does nothing to the puddle he stands in. After a few moments of standing still, he pulls out a cigarette and his lighter.

He turns this lighter over in his hands. He is keenly aware of the item’s purpose. When he first found himself in the Space Between, it was the only valuable item he was carrying. Now, this wasn’t a monetary value; a pawn shop probably wouldn’t even accept the cheap piece of crap. For all Dave knows, the negligible amount of silver it’s made with isn’t worth anything, either. However, the tiny trinket is worth its weight in gold.

For a moment, he allows himself to reminisce…

 

Not much was known about the man known only as WV. He was a bit of a loner and the definition of the silent type. He fought well, though, so most people considered him the go-to guy when you needed a good marksman. Hell, even if you just needed someone to back you in a fistfight, you could always count on WV. Of course, before you could invest your stock in him, you’d have to find him. He was a master of stealth, and most people who knew of him jokingly referred to him as a ghost. Perhaps, you’d see him out of the corner of your eye; by the time you’d turned around, he’d be gone.

So, when he approached Dave, something had to have been amiss.

From his spot in the sand, Dave spoke up. “‘Sup?”

WV shrugged. He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled forth a bent cigarette. As per usual, his face was hidden behind an elaborately wrapped length of cloth. It was his quirk; no one questioned it, though that was mostly because no one wanted to end up on his bad side. To smoke, the man pulled the cloth down enough to uncover his lips, but no more. When he lit the cigarette, the shadows it cast only served to mask his features further.

“How many more do you have left?”

Another shrug. WV once again searched his breast pocket and, after a few moments, he pulled forth a single cigarette. It’s fresh, wholly unused, and, to Dave’s surprise, it’s extended out, to him.

“You want me to have it?” Dave had asked, bewildered. He’d never before been on the receiving end of any sort of gesture of goodwill. Charity wasn’t a familiar concept to him. However, what confused him most about the interaction was his status. WV ranked higher than him. Certainly, he couldn’t just be giving his last cigarette away as a gift for some nobody. “What do you want for it?”

A huff served as WV’s response. He shoved the cigarette into Dave’s hand, and followed it with his own lighter. In the dancing reds and oranges of the smoldering tobacco, Dave swore he caught a glimpse of a smile on the man’s face. Then, as quietly as he’d arrived, WV departed.

 

By the time Dave has snapped out of his reverie, he finds himself in the middle of the city. Traffic piddles about, idling its way around and through him. People stumble down the sidewalks, clutching their purses and bags and umbrellas, as if they are all that matter in the world. Bittersweet romance music drifts from the speakers in the overhang surrounding a posh French restaurant. Out of curiosity, Dave approaches.

Without being truly aware of his actions, he hums along to the tune. _La Vie en Rose_. In the early years of his existence in the Space Between, he heard the song often. He pauses to consider the timeline. What was it? The 1950’s? That sounds about right. Yes. The 1950’s.

He sighs and approaches the large window of the restaurant. Through it, he sees well-dressed people eating overpriced meals. His stomach growls, but he isn’t hungry. In this realm, hunger doesn’t exist. Instead, it’s replaced by the nagging sensation of not belonging. There’s a distinct air of incompleteness—a sense of a half-finished journey—that never goes away. And, now, it’s accompanied by something else.

There’s a distinct sense of loss, and the irksome, clawing feeling of failure. For all these years, he’s done nothing but help people. He’s helped more people than he can count, but nothing makes up for his crime. Nothing could ever make up for his crime…

“But what did you do?” The voice startles Dave. It’s _his_ voice, and it comes from his reflection, cast in the finely polished restaurant facade. Though it’s his own face, it stares back with red eyes. The glow pulsates and wavers, like a star in the night sky. The image cocks its head to the side, and its expression is as blank and enigmatic as Dave would like to imagine he always is. “What are you running from?”

“What does it matter to you?” huffs Dave. He folds his arms across his chest and turns away from the reflection. He knows what this is; he knows it’s a _p_ _úca_. Over the years, he’s encountered it countless times. Yet, he’s never truly embraced it. Why would he? It’s nothing more than another malignant entity in this world of spirits. “Fuck off.”

“What are you running from?” the voice repeats.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Dave snaps. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his nails into his palms. He applies pressure. “I’m not running from anything, you shitty projection of myself. Why don’t you just leave me alone? Doesn’t whatever goddamned deity in charge of this place have something better to do than pester me?”

The shadow falls silent.

A smug smile spreads across Dave’s face, and a short laugh escapes him. “Perfect!”

“Why do you avoid the truth?” Now, the voice comes from beneath his feet. The faint shadow he casts now sports the same red eyes, which, despite having neither pupils nor irises, seem to stare into his soul.

“I shot my own father,” he reluctantly mutters. He leans his back against the glass, which is cool to the touch, and slides into a sitting position. His hands drop to his sides. “What do you fuckin’ want from me, dammit? Go and pester some other happy-go-luck bastard.”

The light goes out for a second, only to return. It’s as if the creature has blinked.

“What more do you want from me, huh?”

Silence. Slowly, the glowing red fades. After a few minutes, no hint of the creature remains.

And, thoroughly shaken, Dave continues to stare at the ground. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until he sees spots in the darkness. When he was a child, he’d try and find shapes in these abstract formations. It was an odd escapist technique and, now, he resumes the habit. He traces the form of an angular humanoid. A pair of torn wings extends from its back and, when it turns, its face is skeletal. Between its pointed teeth, it holds a human, though the body is dwarfed by the creature’s size. Still, Dave knows who it is. Somehow, he just _knows_.

As his hands fall into his lap, he sighs.

He got himself into this mess, and he figures it’s better to get himself out than to mope endlessly.

Karkat hates him. He’s sure of this. There’s no way that anyone could learn of his past and find room to forgive; if he can’t reconcile his own sins, who can? Still, he has to try. One mistake has already besmirched his conscience, and another will undo him completely.

So, what’s the harm in trying?


	12. Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes it’s the motherfucking Skyrim theme. No. I don’t regret it. Yes! I’m alive! Anyhow [slams the gas pedal through the fucking floor]

Alone, in what seems to be the middle of nowhere, Dave Strider allows the shadows to consume him. He feels a strange coldness take over his being.

”So,” a voice, which bears a remarkable resemblance to his own, speaks to him. It comes from not one place, but from everywhere. It surrounds him. “You have realized the true purpose of the shadows...”

”I’m a total dumbass at the end of his rusty piece-of-shit chain, actually,” Dave admits. He doesn’t know who he’s speaking to. Himself, perhaps? “I’m a goddamned mistake...” he curls his fingers into fists. The darkness around him gives way beneath his grip, moving like fabric. “I...”

”We were pushed beyond our limit,” the voice interjects. “What you did—what we did—was self-defense.”

”It was murder,” Dave grumbles.

The voice objects. “We both know that filthy bastard would have killed us either way,” it thunders. “He never cared for us.”

A weight seems to lift from Dave’s shoulders. He takes a deep breath. “Karkat’s probably already dead,” he retorts.

”Not yet,” the voice speaks. Against the nothingness, a vision appears...

* * *

Unbeknownst to him, Karkat Vantas is asleep. He is sprawled out on the ground before a winged demon. In his mind, however, he stands in the middle of an empty field. A cool breeze cycles through the air, brushing the long strands of dry autumnal grass against his skin. The sky is a beautiful, clear, and perfect blue. The sun shines brightly, and he feels at peace.

”You’ve come a long way, haven’t you, little crab?” A familiar voice beckons him. When he turns, he finds its source: his grandfather.

Instinct and affection propel him forward. He embraces a man he hasn’t seen in over a decade, and tears streak down his cheeks. “What’re you doing here?”

”I’m here to welcome you home, little crab,” the man says, repeating the nickname he often used for his grandson. “Aren’t you ready?”

”Fuck,” Karkat utters, “Yes.” He breathes in, inhaling the familiar aroma of his grandparents’ home. It’s a warm, somewhat musky scent. It’s inviting. It’s comforting.

”Ah,” Karkat’s grandfather sighs. He smiles, and the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes become more prominent. “Then...” his voice seems to fade.

Slowly, the breeze stops. The sun fades. The sky turns an inky red, and black tendrils begin to twist across the sky like smoke. Yet, Karkat remains oblivious. He is enraptured by the vision directly before him; whatever is happening around him is of little importance.

* * *

Around midnight, Rose wakes to the sound of something scraping across the ground. It’s a deep, hollow sound, akin to a chair being dragged out of its position. Now, if she were a different person, she might be afraid. If she was not Rose Lalonde, she might have immediately fled the apartment. However, she is not a different person. She is Rose Lalonde and, armed with only a pair of finely pointed knitting needles, she calmly ventures into the commons area of her apartment, from which the sound seems to neonate.

”Whoever is out there has five minutes to speak before I show them the way out of this apartment,” she says. Her voice is as composed as always and carries a certain amount of confidence.

And, in return, a figure emerges from the shadows. Rose recognizes it immediately, yet there is something different about it. The form clearly belongs to Dave Strider. Now, though, a length of shadow—darker than even the night which surrounds it—trails behind him. Tendrils of this blackness wrap around him, embracing him like Lovecraftian tentacles. His eyes glow red and, when he speaks, his voice seems both near and distant. “Rose?” He asks, stepping closer. “Rose, right? You’re one of Karkat’s friends, right?”

”Indeed,” Rose concurs, unperturbed by this development. In fact, she is intrigued. She watches closely, examining the spirit as it inches closer to her. And, as the distance between them closes, she notes that the oddities are beginning to disappear. His appearance returns to normal and, by the time he is within a yard or so of her, his appearance has completely reverted. She takes note of this peculiarity as she continues, saying, “I would consider myself more of an acquaintance. We were not particularly close...”

”Close enough,” snaps Dave. His fingers dig into his hair, tangling themselves within it. “Look, Karkat’s in trouble. I don’t have time to talk about it in detail. I ain’t about to drop by and have a long-winded chat, but I need you to tell me something.”

”Yes?” Rose cocks her head to the side.

”What is it that Karkat wants? What did he want that he never got in life? Riches? Acceptance? Fuckin’ global domination?”

Rose, having turned this very question over in her mind many times over the past few days, answers without hesitation. “Love. He was the most outrageous hopeless romantic I’ve ever met.”

Dave nods. He closes his eyes and breathes in, as if trying to understand the words that have just been spoken to him. After a few moments, he speaks, “I can’t guarantee anything. I have no clue what sort of shit is going to hit this fan, and I don’t have a damned clue what’s going to go down, but... Karkat’s other friend—”

”Kanaya,” Rose supplies.

”Yeah.” Dave frowns. It’s a slight expression, and many might not even notice it. But Rose Lalonde does, and she notices, too, the uncertainty which colors Dave’s every word. “Tell her I’ll do my fuckin’ best. I’ll get Karkat out of this mess, but I don’t know if either of us will be back to say it. So...” He pauses. He rubs the back of his neck, and his gaze falls to the floor. “Thank you. For the help.”

”No problem,” Rose answers honestly. She nods, waves, and silently watches as the odd man disappears as quickly as he’d arrived.


	13. The Man Who Sold the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is short. This is the prologue to the Big Shit Happening. Also a sort of “I’m still here” update.

Even after sprinting the entire way, it takes Dave a few hours to reach his destination. And, when he does, he knows it will take him even longer to be able to confront the true enemy. Nonetheless, as dawn breaks against the sky, in brilliant strokes of vivid reds and oranges, he stands at the edge of a run-down cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

When he was still alive, it was a bustling rural graveyard. The local farmers would often be buried there upon their passing, and, after the outbreak of the war, soldiers were quickly added to its roster. Time took its toll on the area, though, and many of the original residents passed on. Eventually, as people moved from the countryside to the city, the graveyard was abandoned. Now, it sits in a state of ruin. In Dave’s opinion, however, it still maintains much of its old charm...

Not that he really has much time to ponder such things. No, right now, he has a mission. And, if Jade’s information is correct, (and why wouldn’t it be?) then...

”Hey, cape douche,” Dave goads. His voice carries well on the summer breeze. “I know you’re out there.”

A loud clang. A harpoon hook buries itsslf in the crumbling stone remnants of a nearby gravestone. Though the actual monument is untouched, the silvery harpoon remains as a testament to the damage the weapon can do to a spirit.

”Hey, now, that ain’t fair. Fight me like a fucking man, jackass!” Dave folds his arms across his chest. He straightens his back and steadies his breathing. He waits and, the second he’s aware of a threat, he reacts. A quiet whistle of wind to his left precedes the appearance of his foe. Before the spirit has fully formed, he grabs the fabric of the front of his shirt.

By the time Eridan has fully appeared, he finds himself hoisted in the air. His harpoon gun is trained on Dave, and its tip presses against his chest. “What was that about fighting fair, moron?”

”Just tell me where Karkat is and I won’t beat the shit out of you. Hm? Sound like a good deal?” Dave raises his left brow high above the rims of his trademark aviators. A faint smirk tugs at the edges of his lips. Even now, in the heat of the moment, he feels a certain amount of pride in his reaction time. “You have three seconds.”

”I’m not telling you shit,” spits an indignant Eridan.

”Two,” Dave announces.

”What will you do to me?”

”Oh, you want to fuckin’ see?” Dave’s smirk turns to a cocky grin as he raises Eridan higher off the ground. His grip tightens. He readies his free hand for a solid punch. Unbeknownst to him, the edges of his irises glow a faint red. “One...”

”You probably can’t punch worth shit.”

”Zero—” His muscles tense, yet, before he can make another move, he’s interrupted.

”Fine! Fine! He’s in front of the mausoleum. The big one. Fuck if I know the name of the damned idiots buried there,” Eridan whines. He twists and tries his best to wiggle free of Dave’s grasp. “Just put me down.”

A pause.

Though he considers punching his adversary, regardless of the surrender, Dave chooses the high road. He drops Eridan. Before he leaves, he snatches up the man’s harpoon gun. “Just in case you get any bright ideas,” he mutters, leaning it on his shoulder. With this done, he begins a purposeful match toward the center of the cemetery.


	14. My Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is the Hamilton song. Did you expect anything less for one of the biggest chapters of this fic? I typed in on my phone at midnight, BTW, so let me know if there are any typos I missed.

The easiest part was getting here.

The hard part is just ahead. It’s the hulking shadow, which looms before the breaking dawn, with torn, bat-like wings spread open against the clouds. A pair of red eyes glow from its face, which resembles something akin to the skeletal head of a goat. Its spindly arms are outstretched, and its clawed hands grasping at something. Though the object of this beast’s attentions is obscured by a dense haze of darkened fog, Dave knows exactly what it is.

”Karkat!” He calls the name, but receives no sort of response.

“Karkat!” He repeats, and he is met with the same results.

He shoulders the unwieldy harpoon gun, which he had recently taken from Eridan’s grasp. Though he has shot a gun enough times to claim proficiency, he hasn’t the slightest clue of how to use this particular weapon. He aims for one of the outstretched arms and hopes for the best. The trigger is pulled, and he watches the spear arch through the air. It falls just short of its target, embedding itself in the soft dirt.

”Fuck,” Dave mutters.

Around this point, something hits him. Literally. He finds himself on the ground, face down. After recovering from the shock, he rolls over.

Eridan stands before him, triumphantly displaying what can only be assumed as the fist used to assault him. ”You really thought it’d be that easy?” goads the attacker. “Are you really that stupid?”

”Nope,” Dave responds cooly. Though he has no intention of using it, he reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. From here, he pulls forth another of the few items he brought with him to the Space Between: an old, beaten up, but still perfectly functional pistol. He moves to point it at Eridan, but the man scrambles away before he can finish the action. Perhaps, Dave thinks, the man now gets his message. Nonetheless, he states his intentions aloud, “I’m going in there, and I’m getting that clueless fuck out of this absolute hell of a fucked up, radioactive pickle if it kills me.”

”It will,” Eridan grumbles.

Again, Dave ignores the comment. He turns, aims his gun, fires, and hits the monstrosity’s arm.

The beast recoils, hissing. A dark, thick substance, not unlike tar, pours from the point of impact. As the arm reaches up, the fog clears slightly, enough to reveal a familiar kneeling figure.

Naturally, Dave charges for it. He rushes forward, his attentions clouded by a single thought; his chance for redemption has come.

He never notices the arm lowering once more, nor does he note the fog, which rapidly reforms around him.

* * *

The world around Karkat, once filled with images of pure bliss, begins to melt. The faces of lost loved ones distort; in their stead, there are faces of strangers, their features twisted in pain. The sound of joyous laughter and familial banter fades, and a howling wind replaces it. Soon, the landscape, too, has shifted. The rolling green plains become dry and barren. Abundant fruit trees wither and die. And, amidst this chaos, Karkat see the culprit.

”You!” he declares, jabbing a finger at a stone-faced Dave Strider, “Why are you here!? What? You want to kill me, too, you insufferable, putrid excuse for a human?”

”Nah.” Dave shrugs. “Actually, it’s the opposite.”

In a show of distrust, Karkat folds his arms across his chest. He steps back, away from the man he identifies as the origin of all of his afterlife-based suffering. “Really?”

”Really.” Dave’s expression is infuriatingly neutral, even as he gestures dramatically to his surroundings, continuing, “Look around you, dumbass! This isn’t reality!” This ain’t even close to reality.”

A huff of bitter laughter escapes Karkat. “Really? Prove it.”

As if on command, or, perhaps, on a whim, the screeching gale quiets. The barren wasteland turns to rolling hills of sand, and the sound of gunfire pierces the air. A rapid barrage of percussion, then, nothing. From this new vision of chaos, Dave emerges, seemingly out of nowhere, behind Karkat.

”Where the hell are we!?” Karkat demands. “What is this?”

”This fog is a trick, dude. Whatever you or I think about—” Dave buries his hands in his slacks’ pockets. The shifting sands abate, turning, now, to a vision of a small, dark room in a run-down old house. The singular window is boarded over, and the gunfire has been replaced by a loud, drunken voice. A young boy cowers in the corner, while the voice only seems to grow louder. Graceless footsteps thud ever closer to a flimsy wooden door. And, Dave continues, “—Anything you dream up, this goddamned fog will show. Any memories I think up, this place will replay.” The cowering child inches closer to the safety of his corner.

”Just leave me alone, dammit!” Karkat snaps. He closes his eyes and tries to shrink inward; he longs to become small enough to simply disappear from existence. “You’ve already fucked up enough, why do you have to ruin death, too?”

”Because you’re not dead yet!” Dave retorts with an equal amount of confidence. “Eridan is about as trustworthy as a vacuum salesman, and he ain’t worth the paper the money you hand over is printed on. You’ve been tricked! You’re—”

The world seems to shake. The images fade again, but, now, only darkness replaces them.

Karkat retreats. Though he knows it’s useless, he attempts to run. Yet, in this newfound void, he makes no progress. After a few moments, he surrenders. He sits, buries his head in his hands, and lets forth a loud, irritated groan.

Dave, meanwhile, simply continues. When he has recovered from the sudden shock, he goes on with his speech, “Look, I know I’m not exactly the best person on any level. I’m kind of a loser. But, you’ve got to trust me. You’re in some real deep shit, Vantas.”

”Hmph,” Karkat grunts.

Dave sighs. He sits down, next to the only other person in this realm-within-a-realm, and mirrors his stance. He hugs his legs to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. His free hand idly combs through his own hair. “I get it.”

”Do you? Because, if you did, you would just leave me the fuck alone, you dense motherfucker.”

Dave allows this interruption. He nods at Karkat’s conclusion, yet preserves with his message. “It sucks. Being dead sucks. You had all these plans and all this great, rollicking good shit you were going to do.”

Though reluctant to acknowledge his adversary’s point, Karkat nods.

So, Dave continues, “You had friends and family and people you wanted to see grow old and you wanted to be with them a little longer, huh?”

”Yeah,” Karkat grudgingly agrees.

”Well, I didn’t get that. You’re lucky. You had all this great, amazing shit going for you. You had a great life. You lived a fucking amazing life. You have something worth dying for.” Dave turns his head, away from Karkat. “I’m not saying being dead is good, but...” He hesitates. He chews on his lip for a moment, though he finds his words quickly. “You lived, and, while I sure as fuck won’t claim to know what comes after this freaky little purgatory we’ve got going on, I’m willing to bet you’ll be happy in whatever comes next, right?”

Karkat pauses. By now, a faint glow has begun to appear around him, though he doesn’t notice this development. Rather, he notices Dave’s form growing dimmer.

In fact, it seems to be fading. When Dave speaks, it seems as if his voice, too, is growing fainter. “So, trust me. Just this one time, trust me. You’re a good guy, Karkat. And I don’t mean that in the sort of nice-guys-finish-last sort of way. I mean... You’re a good guy, and you deserve something more than nothing. I mean... You deserve to see what’s on the other side. Me? I don’t stand a chance. So, why don’t you go on out there and make the best out of the hand you’ve ended up with?”

The world, itself, seems to crack. The darkness wavers and, though small gaps, Karkat can see the image of a forgotten cemetery at sunrise. “I guess you’re right...” The world shatters again, revealing more of reality. There’s a brief pause, during which Karkat troes to summon some sort of a response. He digs as deeply within himself as he can, yet he ultimately only manages to muster a single word: “Thanks.”

”You’re welcome.” To Karkat’s surprise, Dave’s response is accompanied by a smile.

The expression tugs at his heart and gives rise to a warmth Karkat has never before felt. It radiates from his core and spreads throughout his body, pleasantly enveloping him. It calms him, even as the world fractures more around him. Somehow, he finds himself smiling.

And, by now, for Karkat, the world has cleared. The darkness has given way to the cemetery, and he finds himself sprawled out in a patch of soft, dew-dusted grass. He finds himself, in a sense, alive and, to the content of his still-clouded mind, alone.

* * *

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s done, but he knows that he’s won.

Dave Strider, for the first time in his life, has done something that he can truly and wholeheartedly be proud of. And, despite his situation, he basks in this pride. He allows himself to ride the high of his success, even as the darkness closes in around him. He lays down, folds his hands behind his head, and, for the first time in a long while (barring, of course, his anticipatory smile moments earlier), he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it’s a cliffhanger but I promise this doesn’t have a downer ending so pls stay tuned for the final installment of this fic.


	15. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, to be real, if the title of this chapter is a surprise then I’m not quite sure what you were expecting for a fic named after a verse from Hamilton, tbh. Anyhow thanks for reading and I’ll be trying to work on some of my other unfinished fics here and there but I also now have Adult Duties and A Job so I have no idea what update schedules will look like. I really hope you enjoyed my little story. as usual, let me know if I made any typos. I also typed this chapter at midnight. On my phone.

The sound of ringing bells wakes Karkat. Though the source is nearby, and the sound is crisp and clear, it has an oddly ethereal quality to it; it seems as if it’s further away than the shining silver chimes at his feet. And, just beyond this, he can see something more. Something familiar.

His mind slowly begins to try and pick up the pieces. His body—or, perhaps, what he considers to be his body—moves forward, in the direction of an out-of-place teahouse. As he approaches, the wooden panel over the low door slides open.

A voice beckons to him. “You’re awake. I thought you’d keep sleeping forever out there, Karkat.” A quiet chuckle follows.

Naturally, Karkat responds with uncertainty. He slips into the space, looks toward the familiar woman, and frowns. He knows her. He knows those round glasses, the long hair, and the serene, buck-toothed smile. But... from where? “What just happened?” he blurts out.

”Hm...” The woman, too, frowns. She rubs her chin. “It seems you don’t recall me, first of all.”

”I don’t,” Karkat admits.

”Well, then,” the woman extends her hand outwards, and her grin widens, “I’m Jade. I’m a friend of Dave’s, and a guardian. You remember me now?”

There’s a pause. A period of silence. Then, Karkat nods. “Okay. Yeah. Where is that jackass, anyhow? As much as I hate to admit it, I owe him some sort of thanks.”

”Well,” Jade sighs. After sitting on the ground, a few feet from her conversational partner, she folds her arms across her chest. Her smile fades. “That’s actually what I’m here to talk about.”

”Oh...” At this moment, Karkat is keenly award of how tiny his voice sounds. He recognizes, too, how tiny _he_ is. What more is there to him beyond the husk of a person—a manifestation of a personality—that he is now?

”You see, you managed to get tricked by a somewhat infamous deciever. Maybe you know the name Eridan Ampora?”

Averting his gaze from Jade, Karkat nods.

“He led you to a trap, and Dave managed to get you out,” Jade continues.

Again, Karkat nods. This time, however, he glances in the guardian’s direction. His brows furrow in confusion. “So, what? He went on a fucking break to take a dump?”

”He’s been taken by a demon. I’ll spare you the specifics,” Jade supplies, her voice surprisingly flat. She speaks with such confidence and detachment that it seems uncharacteristic; even her somber expression seems unfitting for her demeanor. This disconnect, between her mannerisms and her usual personality, only grows as she continues, saying, matter-of-factly, “I’m unaware of his current whereabouts, but I’ve sent... Hm... Let’s call him an old friend. I’ve sent him to check on Dave, and I suppose we’ll have to see how it goes from there.”

”Oh.” Again, the smallness of his voice hits Karkat like a sack of bricks. He sits down, atop the woven floor mat, and avoids meeting Jade’s gaze. In fact, he avoids even looking in her direction as he speaks up. “It’s... my fault, isn’t it?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Karkat sees Jade shrug. She offers a small smile, and, to his surprise, her response is imbued with an immense warmth. “No,” she reassures, “He made that choice. Yeah, you got into a big mess, but he decided to go sprinting headfirst into it.” A long sigh escapes her, and the smile fades, but the softness remains in her voice. “He’s gotten into situations like this before. Never this major, of course, but he’s always managed to find a way out.”

”Mhm.” Karkat nods. He stares at the ground and joins Jade in silently waiting for news.

* * *

Against the darkness, which surrounds and consumes a now-idle and thoroughly disinterested Dave Strider, a figure appears. First, it’s a shape, the rough outline of young man. Then, the details begin to fill themselves in. Messy black hair, bright blue eyes, and a wide grin.

Then, the figure speaks. The voice is familiar and, though the man stands only a foot or so away from Dave, it seems distant. It echoes, as if the darkness is a room of blank walls. “You’ve gotten yourself into some deep shit, huh?”

”If you’re just the manifestation of my hopes and dreams comforting me before I’m inevitably wiped off the face of the planet, then, fuck, yeah. I’d say I did.” Dave shrugs. He pulls his knees to his chest and drapes an arm across them. His other hand bears his weight as he leans back. “You _are_ , aren’t you? You’re just some sort of fucked up dream.”

“Maybe.” The figure shrugs.

Dave, in return, smirks. “C’mon, John, you can admit it. I’m so goddamned gay that your twink ass has come to hustle me on to the planes of eternal oblivion.”

Again, the other man shrugs. He adjusts his rectangular glasses. “Actually, I’m here to cut you a deal.”

”Fuck, my subconscious is absolutely wrecked, ain’t it?”

John laughs, and the sound sends a shiver down Dave’s spine. “Just hear me out, okay? You’ve just done some pretty significant shit.”

”Yeah,” Dave scoffs. His smirk fades, and he tangles his fingers in his hair. When he speaks, anxiety colors his words with the indelibility of Sharpie-brand permanent marker. “I just erased myself from collective human memory for some jackass I’ve known for all of a month. The fucker doesn’t even like me. ‘Course he has the rights and reasons not to, but I’m surer than a coffee-hyped car salesman that he’s praising the powers that be that I’m gone.”

”Maybe not.” At this point, John also sits. He mimics Dave’s posture, though his version is, strangely, more graceful. “Not that it matters. Jade sent me here to make sure your ass wasn’t completely roasted.”

”She did?” Dave asks, his voice thick with skepticism.

”Sure did, dude.” An affirmative nod punctuates this statement. “I mean, I _am_ a guardian.”

”And you never visited me?” Dave poses the question with equal amounts of insincerity and hurt.

”There’s different types, you know. I’m more of an afterlife insurance agent. Or... no... that was a bad comparison. I’m like an afterlife lawyer.”

”Great, who the fuck are we suing?”

”No one, damn! Just let me tell you what’s up, okay? Going back to the whole deal thing,” John laughs. He rolls his eyes, adjusts his glasses, and clears his throat prior to elaborating, “First of all, you have the obvious choice.”

”I’m guessin’ you mean that I just sit here, let my soul get sucked into the abyss, and disappear from history, right?” At the conclusion of his statement, Dave quirks his brow.

John simply nods. “Exactly! Obviously, that’s a crappy choice. So, I’m here to give you another. You can become a guardian.”

Now, Dave laughs, though his laughter is devoid of humor. It’s a bitter, hollow sound, and it’s topped off by a pointed glare. “Now my subconscious is really fucking with me, ain’t it? You think _I_ deserve to be a guardian?”

“You’ve already helped usher fuck-knows-how-many people into the afterlife, Dave. You’ve done a pretty good job so far, and you’re not even official.”

”Yeah, and what about my last one?” Dave counters.

John pauses. After a moment of thought, he comes to understand the meaning of the statement. “Karkat is pretty close to being ready, but he needs a bit of a push.”

”Then what’s the point of me becoming a guardian?” With a low growl, Dave jumps to his feet. He turns his back on his former friend and folds his arms tightly across his chest. “Look, I kind of have some sort of dumbass attachment to the fucker, now.” Heat rises to his cheeks; he blushes, and he prays that John—even though he firmly believes that this isn’t the _real_ John—doesn’t see this. “If I am going to be a guardian, I’d like to at least prove it to myself that I can be.”

“Fair enough.” John shrugs.

At this point, there’s a pause. Dave stands in the darkness, his eyes closed. He reaches into his pocket and, after a few moments of searching, he pulls forth a packet of cigarettes. After lighting one and sticking it in his mouth, he muses aloud, “I don’t know if I’m really cut out to be a guardian. Look at what I fuckin’ did. I murdered my own father, then jumped bridge out of the living world to avoid the fallout.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Smoke trails from Dave’s nostrils, though it quickly dissipates into the darkness. “Of course, I guess everyone has to have some sort of chance, right? There’s got to be some way to turn shit around, even if it ain’t the easiest thing to do... right?” Dave pauses. He turns, only to find himself alone.

He notices, too, a new development. Against the darkness, he sees a crack. And, through this break in the darkness, he sees Karkat—his face buried in his hands—and, alongside him, Jade. Out of curiosity, Dave chips away at the edges of the opening.

”I guess there’s only one fuckin’ way to find out,” he grumbles, supplying an answer to his own question.

* * *

As the sun reaches its peak in the sky, and the humid air turns from uncomfortably hot to oppressive in every way, a low rumble breaks the peaceful silence of the countryside.

Karkat is the first to notice it. He shuffles towards the entryway, and, upon sliding it open, he finds himself greeted by something he believed to be lost. Or, rather, he is greeted by some _one_ he believed to be lost. “Strider?” he mutters.

Looking beyond him, Karkat can see the fading remnants of what he can only assume to be the demon Jade mentioned. Dark, inky liquid clings to the ground around the center of the graveyard, and scraps of what seem to be black cloth blow about in the breeze.

Dave, however, seems unharmed. He enters the teahouse in the customary manner and prepares to greet Jade, only to be immediately wrapped in a tight embrace from his long-time friend.

”Don’t _ever_ do that again, dumbass,” Jade hisses in his ear.

Dave, meanwhile, smirks. Without hesitation, he returns the hug. “I won’t.”

Karkat, meanwhile, is beyond the sentimentality of the reunion. His mind reels, and, after a few seconds, he manages to piece together his question. “What the FUCK just happened?” He jabs a finger in Dave’s direction. “You’re supposed to be dead! Not... that...” his voice drops, as does his gaze. “Not that I want you to be dead.”

”Well, from what I understand, I’ve made some sort of weird pact with the universe. I break you into heaven, I get to live it up as a guardian. Apparently, sacrificing yourself earns you perks. I—”

Karkat cuts Dave off. He rushes forward and, though the gesture isn’t nearly as exuberant as Jade’s, he embraces the blond.

Unbeknowns to Karkat, Jade smiles. She meets Dave’s gaze and offers a silent parting wave.

The teahouse fades, as do all three of its occupants.

* * *

The heat of summer gives way to the cool, crisp breezes of fall. The leaves turn their usual colors and fall, yet one thing still occupies the back of Rose’s mind.

Perhaps it’s curiosity that drove her to seek out this place, or, maybe, it was fate. Whatever the reason was, she is here, now.

She stands amidst the crumbling remains of a country cemetery. She unfurls a map, printed from a rough sketch she obtained online, and studies it briefly.

”I believe what we’re looking for is this way,” she announces.

From her place, a few steps behind her girlfriend, Kanaya nods. She follows, asking, “So, you believe that Karkat has found peace?”

”I haven’t heard from him lately, so, yes,” Rose hums. She carefully steps over half of a fallen headstone. “I have sensed a sort of content, however, from time to time. It’s not mine, of course; I would be aware if it was. I’ve also spotted Dave once or twice.”

”Did he say anything?” Kanaya approaches Rose from behind. She studies the map, though a lack of input indicates that she’s as lost as Rose.

Nonetheless, the expedition forges onward. Rose leads in both navigation and conversation. “No, but it seems to me that he’s letting me know everything is fine...” Here, Rose pauses. She kneels down, amidst the tangled overgrowth, and pulls several handfuls of dried greenery away from a faded tombstone. “Found it.”

Kanaya rushes over. She, too, kneels before the grave. From her backpack, she produces an array of gardening tools. She passes some to Rose and, in silence, they begin to work.

After some time, they step away to observe their handiwork. The weeds have been cleared from around the gravesite, and a bouquet of silk flowers, tied with red ribbon, rests before it.

”Do you believe it even matters? Would Dave even care that we’ve done this?” Kanaya asks, gazing at her and Rose’s handiwork.

”Perhaps not,” shrugs Rose. “I do plan on coming back and trying to clean up the rest of this graveyard, though. Would you care to join me?”

”I suppose we could make it a combined effort... Yes,” Kanaya nods. A small smile graces her features.

Nearby, a crow lands on a now-bare branch. It peers towards Rose and, though she approaches it boldly, it seems unperturbed. It continues to stare at her. When only a foot remain between Rose and the bird, however, it takes flight. Its wings spread and beat against the pull of gravity, lifting it aloft, and into the clear, blue autumn sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank the academy for giving me this award [runs from the academy with my stolen award]


End file.
